plerosis.com

Under a full moon on a hot sticky night in Southeast India, tossing and turning in a mosquito tent pitched on a dingy mattress in a dingy closet of a room. The fan is not cutting it. I’m covered in sweat. In spite of the tent something is biting my elbows and knuckles, leaving lines of itchy red dots. No sleep. I flip on my headlamp, read, flip it off, try to sleep. Not a wink. At 4:30am I give up. Bus leaves at 5:30. No point to sleep now. The guest house barricade is propped up from the ground just enough to squeeze under on my belly and drag my pack through. Out on the street, it’s quiet. Such a contrast from daylight hours. An old man is firing up his corner stall. A young kid in school shorts, toes stretching for the bike peddles, creaks past. The dogs, comatose in the heat of the sun, are bold now. The night belongs to them. They bark and charge in packs of three and four. I reach for the ground, pretending to pick up a rock. They yelp and scurry away, but continue to stalk me, from a safer distance, barking barking.

The bus stand is waking up. The dosai and chai stalls are steaming, hot milk bubbling. Barefoot bow-legged men with dhotis wrapped around their loins, button-down collar shirts tucked in the folds, slap down rupees and huddle around the makeshift stands, sipping chai. Women in bright saris and dangling nose chains. Bleary children. I join the huddle, downing a few hot cups of tea in a vain effort to stimulate consciousness. I’m used to India at this point, after six months. The cows meandering. Piles of sleeping human on concrete. Dirt and garbage. Store front sign stacked upon storefront sign, the swirling cyphers of Tamil. The push of crowds. The smell. None of it is exotic or strange; it’s just people living, life going on. But this is my last day, my last few hours, in India, and I’m breathing it all in. The bus drivers are waking up, having stretched out on a bus seat for the night, and are brushing their teeth in the rear-view mirror. By this afternoon I’ll be in Singapore. I have no idea what to expect. I know nothing about the place, other than it’s cheap to fly there from Chennai.

The bus blasts past the bullock-carts, motorbikes, and pedestrians, honking full speed through narrow village lanes, driving mostly on the wrong side of the road. I’m used to this as well, charging honking accelerating forward in spite of oncoming Tata trucks, squeezing at the last possible second to safety. I used to grip the seat back, my heart in my throat, each time. Now I barely notice. The South India morning is stunning, lyrical voices float with the rising sun across the brilliant green rice fields, singing. Temple priests light incense. People bathe in the river, brushing teeth, combing hair. Little naked-butt kid scrubbed down by mom at the fountain, school uniform standing by. There are countless moments of grace in the midst of this chaos, a beautiful mess. India. (more…)

Comments Print

Mamallapuram, India – My last moments in this bewildering and incredible country. In a day’s time, I fly to Singapore. Now for some review. Over six months ago I arrived from Minneapolis to the heat, hassle, and chaos of New Delhi. I left almost immediately for Ladakh in the far North of India (Jammu & Kashmir), with its thin cool air, vast mountain expanses, and Tibetan Buddhist culture. I spent the first few months wandering around the North of India: To the hashish soaked hills of Manali. To Dharamsala, the home of the Dalai Lama’s Tibetan government in exile, where I took a 10-day introductory course on Tibetan Buddhism. Then to the headwaters of the Ganges in Rishikesh. To the Taj Mahal in Agra. To the ancient and holy Hindu cities of Haridwar and Varanasi. Then up into the magical country of Nepal for trekking in the Himalayas, a 10-day vipassana meditation course, and hanging out in Kathmandu. A mad bus trip brought me back to India, to Bodhgaya in the poor and desolate state of Bihar, where I sat under the bodhi tree like the Buddha. From there I went to Jharkhand, and visited the little village of Benegaria, and the mission house in which my mother was born. On to Calcutta, home of barefoot rickshaw wallahs, cricket in the park, and mother Theresa. Then two nights straight on a train across the entire country to get to Igatpuri, near Bombay, for another 10 day meditation course.

Moving from cold, to hot, to sweltering, I left Igatpuri and spent a couple days exploring the incredible Buddhist, Jain, and Hindu caves at Ellora and Ajanta in Maharashtra. Then to the palm tree-lined beaches of Portuguese/Christian Goa- camping out in a hut on a lagoon, playing guitar, splashing around in the Arabian Sea, sipping fresh lime soda. From Goa, I went to Mysore, with its palaces and busy central market. Then to the cool hill station of Ooty. On to sticky Kerala, eating fresh grilled prawns beside the Chinese fishing nets in Kochi, attending performances of traditional Malayalam dance and Carnatic music. Then a couple days exploring the expansive Keralan backwaters by ferry. Then to the quaint fishing village and pilgrim destination of Kanyakumari, at the very bottom of India, where the Arabian Sea, Indian Ocean, and Bay of Bengal converge. From Kanyakumari, I wandered north through various villages and cities in Tamil Nadu, each dominated by elaborately carved Hindu temples, alive with the bustle of pujas, processions, and prayers (and the occasional elephant). Then on to the French quarters of Pondicherry, where I finally found a decent cup of coffee (although I have actually acquired a taste for the bitter and ubiquitous Nescafe). A day’s visit to the sprawling international new-age utopian community of Auroville. And finally to the stone carving center of Mamallapuram, with its ancient shore temple jutting out from the beach. An early bus tomorrow morning takes me to the airport in Chennai. I’ll be in Singapore by the evening. (more…)

Comments (2) Print

Kochi – India is giddy with optimism. Not merely optimism, it’s more like assurance. India is on the verge of becoming a global superpower and there is nothing to stand in the way (except maybe for China.) Indians are feeling jubilant about development and international success, and the celebration has already begun. There is a tremendous sense of national pride. Striking up a casual conversation with an Indian, it will be only moments before you are asked “How do you find India?” Fully expecting you to tell them that India is the best country you have ever had the privilege of visiting, if you hesitate, they’ll offer up that opinion for you, face beaming. This kind of good-natured unselfconscious confidence and pride isn’t at all challenging, belligerent, or annoying; it’s refreshing, infectious. It’s the polar opposite of the kind of feeling you have as a traveler when you tell someone that you are from the USA.

This assurance of progress and better times ahead as a nation seems to transcend the myriad internal conflicts of regional, racial, and religious identity and strained competition for resources that such compressed diversity in such large numbers is bound to bring. India has its problems, sure, but what else is new? They’ve been living with violence, poverty, domination by this empire or that regime, wars, famines, and moral and natural evils of all kinds since long before anyone can remember.

I was chatting with a shrimp exporter from Bangalore as we sat in a dingy open-air rooftop cafe above the fray of the Kolkata streets. He said that he doesn’t meet many traveling Americans anymore, not since 9/11. He and his buddy, a dealer in ayurvedic natural plant extracts, were drinking whiskey and water, smoking cigarettes, and eating plates of meat– strictly taboo for a huge number of Hindus and all women, and the sure sign of a modern Indian businessman. “The thing with you Americans,” he said, “is that you never think it will happen to you, in your own home. Then you find out one day that you are not invulnerable and you freak out. Terrorism is just a part of life for Indians. We’re used to it.” Case in point: the train bombing only a couple weeks ago in which dozens of innocent people were burned to cinders when their train exploded on the way from Delhi to Pakistan. There was an official fuss, the papers stayed focused on the story for a couple days, but most Indians didn’t even blink an eye. I’m sure the next train that ran the same line was just as full as any other day. (more…)

Comments (1) Print

Igatpuri, India -Dhamma Giri, also known as the Vipassana International Academy, is the main hub for all the vipassana meditation centers throughout the world under the teaching of S.N. Goenka. Located in Igatpuri in the state of Maharashtra, India, the garden-strewn campus is set in a dry desert bluff climate reminiscent of the American southwest. There are several large pagodas surrounded by rows of individual meditation cells. There are a number of larger dhamma halls for group meditations and discourses, and men and women are completely segregated into different areas. It’s a slick and comfortable operation, accommodating hundreds of students per course. There is also a separate facility for old students engaged in long term courses, up to 90 days and even longer. The kinks of some of the less-established centers have all been worked out, and I found Dhamma Giri to be incredibly conducive to serious meditation. There are very few distractions, and even though there were hundreds of people at a time sitting in the main hall, they all seemed to be working very hard.

This was my fifth 10-day course and, in spite of (or maybe because of) the comfortable efficiency of the place, it was my roughest sit so far. I worked hard and without much internal or external distraction. The difficult part of meditation is also its greatest benefit: you get a real good look at yourself. The veils of delusion are systematically stripped away, and you stare unblinking into the truthful mirror, which can be alternatively deep and dark and sometimes far too bright. I went through it, boy, I can tell you. It ain’t easy. But in the end, there is no question; it is the single best thing I do for myself. Facing the reality of self and world. Looking at it. Seeing it. It is a process of purification, a refiner’s fire. It hurts like hell, but in the end, you emerge with a much greater degree of equanimity and awareness. So much happens in 10 days, it would take volumes to write it all down. But here are some notes and thoughts arising from this particular course. For a more detailed account of vipassana in general, some necessary background info, and a document of my initial experiences, see my original vipassana post.
(more…)

Comments (3) Print