Hmmm... I see that somehow over three months have passed since I've made an entry... how could this be, I wonder?? Although I know that it was Europe that did it...
When in India one has so much more time to write, it seems... and now that I am back in Asia, swapping India for Vietnam (Ho Chi Minh / Saigon), and I seem to be stuck in this internet cafe while the monsoon buckets down in the street outside (very interesting - this is the first time it's hit and I haven't been trapped inside a hotel room. I'm interested to see that there are still motorbikes around, although the riders seem to be more often than not covered head to toe in some kind of blue plastic...), it seems that the time to write again has... arrived!
So how shall I begin? I have no idea whether I'll be able to capture the events of the past three months now that they are well and truly in the past... but I might touch on a few things. It seems fitting to write about how I left India all those months ago (... three...) and how the world I was in started to change right in front of me.
Early July. I reluctantly leave the Bhagsu valley and all its nurturing late night jam sessions and take the usual shitty night bus to Delhi. Particularly shitty I remember as it leaked on a couple of Portuguese travellers I met there, and the drivers did nothing but laugh for the first hour and then begrudgingly sellotape up some cardboard... but what to do? This is India...
Anyway, I had expected my one day in Delhi to be the usual hot, bored day of somehow surviving the humidity, catching up on sleep and late minute shopping. I never meet anyone in Delhi - why should this day be any different? But, ever since what I consider a definite 'soul-evolution', for want of a better word, in the Himalayas this year, it seemed that life just didn't work in the same way anymore. A bunch of Bhagsu-ites that were all flying out the following day were congregating in the aptly named 'Nirvana' cafe so we spent a good few hours reminiscing about the place, swapping a wee bit of gossip (tis true) and preparing ourselves for the culture change in front of us. Someone mentioned that like it or not, Europe (where most of us were headed) was going to knock this peace out of us eventually and from this conversation onwards I became determined not to let this happen. I mean, it's all inside of us, right? Surely we can't cling to the bosom of India forever... there comes a time when we have to step back into the world, and I chose to do so whole heartedly.
Anyway, regardless of my determination to hold my peace, I couldn't argue that things were starting to change before we had even left India. It turned out that one of the Bhagsu-ites was on my flight so we shared a cab to the airport at around 2 in the blurry-eyed morning and actually had a great airport experience together. Normally something I do alone, like the last day in Delhi, my world was changing and I was finding I didn't need so much alone time anymore... anyway, there was a point where I realised that we were leaving India before we even left India so to speak... I'll just retrive my journal entry from the time in order to convey it better...
"Your pending balance 340"
Oh, my final impressions of India.
I sit with Adam in the super bland "Costa Coffee" and drink the shittiest and most expensive chai I have EVER had! Just a teabag in water with some frothy milk and no masala to speak of. I am aware that we are about to re-enter the world of chains and brands, which modern India seems to be trying to emulate in the worst way possible. I want to take it by the scruff of its devotional neck and beg it not to change, but I know it will. I know there will always be the chai walla on the side of the road, which has been my reality for the past three months, and we joke about the unlikelihood of one of these guys setting up shop in the Delhi International airport, serving their sweet milky spiced chai out of little clay cups as a kind of Indian farewell, bit we both know it will never happen.. they would never afford the rent for starters! Such a shame. Airports are so soulless and culture-void... so bland, so monochromatic.
And this world is where I am going to, but I am determined to hold my own in the midst of it. I sit and look at the fading henna on my hands - a chessboard pattern covers much of my left palm while vines grow up the fingertips. My right palm is much darker and here a small flower adorns the centre with lacey patterns emerging in bright henna orange all around it. I wonder what people in Europe will think of this... but I don't care. I am bound for another world... and although I welcome it, I know that it's gonna be a change that won't always come easy.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Last days in Bhagsu
The valley is filled with musicians and it seems I have been lucky enough to meet and play with some truly beautiful ones. Every night in my last week is filled with various jam sessions - huge tribal jams / dance offs at 'Sky Pie', casual relaxed Punjabi-lassi inspired jams at Roza cafe or small scale sessions at 'Sky HIGH', the latter of which often ends up turning large-scale much to the chagrin of the non-musos staying there...
As stated, there are loads of musicians around, but I have a core crew in a few of them. Matt, a sitar player from Florida, is one of the first players I meet that I truly gel with. He is tall, curly haired and never to be seen without either his sitar or a guitar strapped to his back. I first meet Matt at Roza cafe on the full moon, or see him at least, playing with Vladi and Lapsang, a guitarist and flute player respectively. Their music is beautiful that night, but I remember being 'on a mission' to get to another full moon party - a musical evening at Shivam's house - and don't remember staying around too long despite the beauty wafting out of those instruments. As I leave I lament my evening's commitment and vow to make NO future plans unless I have to - it's very hard to walk away from such beauty.
Anyway, I first play with Matt and Vlad a few nights after the full moon, at 'Roza'. Our first jam is actually quite a healing experience for me as I'd had a kind of a crazy evening prior to this, and nothing feels better than to sit and sing my heart out to their improvised licks. The three of us seem to run into each other a lot in the coming days - usually at 'Roza', and we sit and eat breakfast together and philosophise. I am quickly told the story of what happened after their legendary full moon jam and hear of Vlad falling down a cliff right after he warned the others not to get too close to the edge! Well, the others are laughing away so I feel free to join in - it is pretty funny... especially because his precious guitar was unharmed.
Another wonderfully talented man I love playing with is Shyan, always armed with his array of flutes in various keys. Sometimes I try to mirror what he does on flute with my voice - our jams are always beautiful. Peter is another flute player, and Shreeti box player, and 'Halluci' player (an instrument that truly sounds like its name!)who travels with about twenty kilos of instruments, building them as he goes... ahhh, it's a good life we all lead... as we are all taking singing lessons from Manoj, a wonderful teacher based in Varanasi most of the year, the idea gets bandied about to all go and live there and study music together. WHY NOT??!! I'm currently entertaining this notion of moving to Varanasi in time for Christmas (after earning some money teaching somewhere first...) to study for three months or so. How amazing would it be though, to all live in a big house together, play music every day, in one of the craziest cities in the world?!
So, it seems it's mostly men that I've been jamming with, although Uma joins us for a few nights, her freestyling lyrics an inspiration to me - totally free, she raps about being the queen of the world (making us all keel over in laughter), being limitless and ever-changing and sharing a house with some funky monkey junkies - actually, that last one was Peter and I, very funny... and Selina from South America joins us for my last couple of nights as well - a full power goddess woman who I totally connect with vocally. We harmonise together, and sometimes shriek a bit, and end up dancing to the music we're creating, letting our inner banshees out - hooray!! I am LOVING these musical nights...
Although not everyone is. I must admit we get kind of carried away one night when it is raining and the sound of the monsoon covers our volume. There are dozens of people all crammed onto a verandah near 'Sky High' and by the time the rain dies down we have forgotten about the time, the djimbes have started up again and unfortunately we have to be told by a pretty upset neighbour whose sleep has been interrupted by our bangin'. I feel terrible about this, and wonder not for the first time what the locals think of us - we must seem to take over their beloved valley for up to six months of the year in high season. They have to put up with djimbes banging at unruly hours, mad trance parties, blissed out hippies climbing up and down the mountains all through the night... I mean, we have a pretty amazing life here in Bhagsu, but I think we should remember those that have lived here all their lives. Food for thought anyway...
Actually, it's reasonably common for police to come and close things down anyway, something I found out on my final night - I had invited people to come and play at 'Marley cafe', but because of getting my hands hennaed by my lovely guesthouse maitre-dee, I was over an hour late so we didn't start playing until after ten o-clock, the official closing time around these parts. Sure, we were playing quietly (I wasn't going to take any chances after our 3 am finish a few nights before), but we were soon plunged into darkness when the cafe owner turned out all the lights and shushed everyone. Expecting to hear a simple conversation between a police officer and the owner, we were all shocked and horrified to hear the sound of someone being pretty heavily beaten up, just on the other side of the canvas covering. As soon as it was safe to leave we did, there being nothing we could do (after seeing my rickshaw driver get beat up by police in Delhi, I knew they wouldn't listen to us if we told them to stop). We later found out that it wasn't because of us, but rather that the police had been videoing someone smoking charas through a guesthouse window, and a worker had thought that they (the policeman) was a common thief. So, the worker hit the policeman, not knowing who they were, and a heavy beating and an arrest followed. We're all pretty bummed out by this time, me especially, having invited everyone to this cafe to play some music! But unfortunately this stuff happens all over India... we visit the next morning to see how things are, but who knows... who can win when facing the Indian police?!?
Suprisingly, we do end up having one more beautiful jam for last night, all cramming into Dipender's room (he owns a guesthouse near 'Sky High), and even more suprisingly, we manage to keep it really quiet, and disturb nobody. For me it's a really nice warm up to my upcoming 'busking tour of Europe' as I play song after song for everyone towards the end of the night - Leonard Cohen, Simon and Garfunkel, Beatles... we all finally leave around 3 a.m, completely satisfied, completely happy...
SO, I leave Bhagsu in the best possible place - completely inspired, and very creatively... I really feel like this bunch of musicians I will see again, for sure... I catch my night bus to Delhi reluctantly, but also knowing that all things must come to an end as well, and that there are bound to be many more beautiful experiences ahead of me in Europe, a land completely different to the one I have been living on for the past three months, but a canvas waiting to have new musical stories painted on. Life is changing for me now as I move to new lands, but not for the first time I say bring it on, sweet universe... bring it on indeed...
As stated, there are loads of musicians around, but I have a core crew in a few of them. Matt, a sitar player from Florida, is one of the first players I meet that I truly gel with. He is tall, curly haired and never to be seen without either his sitar or a guitar strapped to his back. I first meet Matt at Roza cafe on the full moon, or see him at least, playing with Vladi and Lapsang, a guitarist and flute player respectively. Their music is beautiful that night, but I remember being 'on a mission' to get to another full moon party - a musical evening at Shivam's house - and don't remember staying around too long despite the beauty wafting out of those instruments. As I leave I lament my evening's commitment and vow to make NO future plans unless I have to - it's very hard to walk away from such beauty.
Anyway, I first play with Matt and Vlad a few nights after the full moon, at 'Roza'. Our first jam is actually quite a healing experience for me as I'd had a kind of a crazy evening prior to this, and nothing feels better than to sit and sing my heart out to their improvised licks. The three of us seem to run into each other a lot in the coming days - usually at 'Roza', and we sit and eat breakfast together and philosophise. I am quickly told the story of what happened after their legendary full moon jam and hear of Vlad falling down a cliff right after he warned the others not to get too close to the edge! Well, the others are laughing away so I feel free to join in - it is pretty funny... especially because his precious guitar was unharmed.
Another wonderfully talented man I love playing with is Shyan, always armed with his array of flutes in various keys. Sometimes I try to mirror what he does on flute with my voice - our jams are always beautiful. Peter is another flute player, and Shreeti box player, and 'Halluci' player (an instrument that truly sounds like its name!)who travels with about twenty kilos of instruments, building them as he goes... ahhh, it's a good life we all lead... as we are all taking singing lessons from Manoj, a wonderful teacher based in Varanasi most of the year, the idea gets bandied about to all go and live there and study music together. WHY NOT??!! I'm currently entertaining this notion of moving to Varanasi in time for Christmas (after earning some money teaching somewhere first...) to study for three months or so. How amazing would it be though, to all live in a big house together, play music every day, in one of the craziest cities in the world?!
So, it seems it's mostly men that I've been jamming with, although Uma joins us for a few nights, her freestyling lyrics an inspiration to me - totally free, she raps about being the queen of the world (making us all keel over in laughter), being limitless and ever-changing and sharing a house with some funky monkey junkies - actually, that last one was Peter and I, very funny... and Selina from South America joins us for my last couple of nights as well - a full power goddess woman who I totally connect with vocally. We harmonise together, and sometimes shriek a bit, and end up dancing to the music we're creating, letting our inner banshees out - hooray!! I am LOVING these musical nights...
Although not everyone is. I must admit we get kind of carried away one night when it is raining and the sound of the monsoon covers our volume. There are dozens of people all crammed onto a verandah near 'Sky High' and by the time the rain dies down we have forgotten about the time, the djimbes have started up again and unfortunately we have to be told by a pretty upset neighbour whose sleep has been interrupted by our bangin'. I feel terrible about this, and wonder not for the first time what the locals think of us - we must seem to take over their beloved valley for up to six months of the year in high season. They have to put up with djimbes banging at unruly hours, mad trance parties, blissed out hippies climbing up and down the mountains all through the night... I mean, we have a pretty amazing life here in Bhagsu, but I think we should remember those that have lived here all their lives. Food for thought anyway...
Actually, it's reasonably common for police to come and close things down anyway, something I found out on my final night - I had invited people to come and play at 'Marley cafe', but because of getting my hands hennaed by my lovely guesthouse maitre-dee, I was over an hour late so we didn't start playing until after ten o-clock, the official closing time around these parts. Sure, we were playing quietly (I wasn't going to take any chances after our 3 am finish a few nights before), but we were soon plunged into darkness when the cafe owner turned out all the lights and shushed everyone. Expecting to hear a simple conversation between a police officer and the owner, we were all shocked and horrified to hear the sound of someone being pretty heavily beaten up, just on the other side of the canvas covering. As soon as it was safe to leave we did, there being nothing we could do (after seeing my rickshaw driver get beat up by police in Delhi, I knew they wouldn't listen to us if we told them to stop). We later found out that it wasn't because of us, but rather that the police had been videoing someone smoking charas through a guesthouse window, and a worker had thought that they (the policeman) was a common thief. So, the worker hit the policeman, not knowing who they were, and a heavy beating and an arrest followed. We're all pretty bummed out by this time, me especially, having invited everyone to this cafe to play some music! But unfortunately this stuff happens all over India... we visit the next morning to see how things are, but who knows... who can win when facing the Indian police?!?
Suprisingly, we do end up having one more beautiful jam for last night, all cramming into Dipender's room (he owns a guesthouse near 'Sky High), and even more suprisingly, we manage to keep it really quiet, and disturb nobody. For me it's a really nice warm up to my upcoming 'busking tour of Europe' as I play song after song for everyone towards the end of the night - Leonard Cohen, Simon and Garfunkel, Beatles... we all finally leave around 3 a.m, completely satisfied, completely happy...
SO, I leave Bhagsu in the best possible place - completely inspired, and very creatively... I really feel like this bunch of musicians I will see again, for sure... I catch my night bus to Delhi reluctantly, but also knowing that all things must come to an end as well, and that there are bound to be many more beautiful experiences ahead of me in Europe, a land completely different to the one I have been living on for the past three months, but a canvas waiting to have new musical stories painted on. Life is changing for me now as I move to new lands, but not for the first time I say bring it on, sweet universe... bring it on indeed...
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Bhagsu in the Monsoon
The monsoon has officially come to Bhagsu. For the past three day, I have awoken to thick foggy skies rather than my usual view of the lush green valley below. The first rain usually begins as I do my asanas on my small blue yoga mat in the upstairs room, and if I'm lucky, the sun will come out momentarily in an hour or two, giving people the opportunity to emerge from their various mountain hideouts (guesthouses/cafes).
Actually, that's a lie. There is no regularity to the rain. It just comes. But for the past few days, it has stayed for longer, a pattern which is not likely to change for a while.
Ridiculously, I have no raincoat or umbrella. Usually this is not a problem as I am loaded up with books to read when the rain comes and I'm still in my room, or if I'm outside I can duck into one of the many warm Bhagsu cafes with similarly unprepared travellers... Toady was the first day I got caught out, having braved the rain enough to run a few minutes to Roza cafe for breakfast. Luckily Sahil lent me his only-slightly-broken unmbrella to whip down the hill to my singing class, and I have been down here ever since, as today this water is just not ceasing. It's okay. I love it, and the fact that it makes us slow down and relllaaaax even more.
For I have realised something. I've been here three weeks or even more now, and have only a few days left until I need to take my Delhi night bus and my plane to Amsterdam. What a change this will be... but anyway, back to my realisation. After three weeks here, and after four months on the road, I finally feel like I'm learning to truly leeeeet gooooo.... a deeper level of relaxation is coming in. Looking back, I've always had some kind of objective for my day, and certain 'things to achieve' so to speak. How liberating, then, to fnially let go and just BE. You'd think I would have realise this already, after four months away. How interesting then, how long it's taken me to transofrm my Western view.
In 'the West' (generic term for countries not like India), we live our lives with such expectation - with goals, onjectives, attachments. Even our personal development is often laden with ideas of where we want to 'get to' or how we can make ourselves more of a person we want to be. A friend of mine told me yesterday "Why are you always 'on your way' somewhere? You need to calm down , girl. Everything is inside of you". How right he was. For me anyway, it's been highly liberating to just STOP and let life happen. I know I have the luxury of doing this at the moment - no kids, no responsibilities... so I'vwe decided to mike it, baby, for all it's worth, and ENJOOOOOYYYYY (Indian saying) even more.
Right, enough lyrical waxing. Here's some of the cool stuff that's been going on in the Valley of late.
Two beautiful jams, one two nights before in Roza cafe, and last night in 'Sky High' where a small circle of flute, singing, sitar, guitar and tabla turned into an even bigger circle of harmonies, spoons tapping on glasses and a rather hyperactive puppy wagging its tail and trying to chew everything (tabla and flute case, beer glass, everyone's feet) in sight.
My amazing yoga / meditation practise. I've taken some classes, but mostly I just love practising in my room, holding my asanas long, long, long, and watching my mind get quieter and calmer. It's amazing. Pretty much impossible to put into words, so I'll leave it at that.
Sometimes I wish I could stay longere her, but my visa is up, and Europe is calling. Soon it will be time to take to the streets with my guitar in hand and let my voice fund me for a while. I have much to take away with me. A lot has 'sunk in' for me here in this valley. Now it will be up to me to integrate it into a diferent enviornment and away from the nurturing land of India - my home, always...
Actually, that's a lie. There is no regularity to the rain. It just comes. But for the past few days, it has stayed for longer, a pattern which is not likely to change for a while.
Ridiculously, I have no raincoat or umbrella. Usually this is not a problem as I am loaded up with books to read when the rain comes and I'm still in my room, or if I'm outside I can duck into one of the many warm Bhagsu cafes with similarly unprepared travellers... Toady was the first day I got caught out, having braved the rain enough to run a few minutes to Roza cafe for breakfast. Luckily Sahil lent me his only-slightly-broken unmbrella to whip down the hill to my singing class, and I have been down here ever since, as today this water is just not ceasing. It's okay. I love it, and the fact that it makes us slow down and relllaaaax even more.
For I have realised something. I've been here three weeks or even more now, and have only a few days left until I need to take my Delhi night bus and my plane to Amsterdam. What a change this will be... but anyway, back to my realisation. After three weeks here, and after four months on the road, I finally feel like I'm learning to truly leeeeet gooooo.... a deeper level of relaxation is coming in. Looking back, I've always had some kind of objective for my day, and certain 'things to achieve' so to speak. How liberating, then, to fnially let go and just BE. You'd think I would have realise this already, after four months away. How interesting then, how long it's taken me to transofrm my Western view.
In 'the West' (generic term for countries not like India), we live our lives with such expectation - with goals, onjectives, attachments. Even our personal development is often laden with ideas of where we want to 'get to' or how we can make ourselves more of a person we want to be. A friend of mine told me yesterday "Why are you always 'on your way' somewhere? You need to calm down , girl. Everything is inside of you". How right he was. For me anyway, it's been highly liberating to just STOP and let life happen. I know I have the luxury of doing this at the moment - no kids, no responsibilities... so I'vwe decided to mike it, baby, for all it's worth, and ENJOOOOOYYYYY (Indian saying) even more.
Right, enough lyrical waxing. Here's some of the cool stuff that's been going on in the Valley of late.
Two beautiful jams, one two nights before in Roza cafe, and last night in 'Sky High' where a small circle of flute, singing, sitar, guitar and tabla turned into an even bigger circle of harmonies, spoons tapping on glasses and a rather hyperactive puppy wagging its tail and trying to chew everything (tabla and flute case, beer glass, everyone's feet) in sight.
My amazing yoga / meditation practise. I've taken some classes, but mostly I just love practising in my room, holding my asanas long, long, long, and watching my mind get quieter and calmer. It's amazing. Pretty much impossible to put into words, so I'll leave it at that.
Sometimes I wish I could stay longere her, but my visa is up, and Europe is calling. Soon it will be time to take to the streets with my guitar in hand and let my voice fund me for a while. I have much to take away with me. A lot has 'sunk in' for me here in this valley. Now it will be up to me to integrate it into a diferent enviornment and away from the nurturing land of India - my home, always...
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Full Moon Eclipse in Upper Bhagsu
It's midnight; the moon has another hour in which to disappear and I have as much time to write by its light. High in the Bhagsu Valley, various sounds emanate. Birds burning the midnight oil chirp quietly amongst themselves. The distant sounds of drumbeats echo across to my perch, mixing with the laughter of the late night cafe dwellers. The occasional whoop and moon howl are carried to me on the windless night, although this moon is gentle; there are no loud trance parties anywhere near us. I think others have traveled to Manali and the Parvati Valley for such occasions and I'm glad for the gentle peace that remains. Possibly it's the guesthouse I'm at; the two Frenchies, a Venezuelan and I are more content to sit and watch the moon before getting a reasonably early night, than to stay up all night jamming. A dog barks and I see the white patches of a cat quicken their pace on the lawn below. I want to stay up until I can write no more.
I have just come from Shivam's full moon musical celebration, where a wonderful harmonium player jammed with various drummers and the orange clad baba from down the hill whose voice crescendoed as they sang some devotionally rockin bhajans while we sipped chai and lemon ginger honey. I joined in and felt my whole body vibrate with the sounds within and around me, although I knew none of the words. All the while, Shivam sat on his orange blanket, twisting his hands into various mudras and swaying his body devotionally, stopping occasionally to pay homage to the many portraits of his teacher that adorned the walls.
Such are the contrasts in this valley - you can find anything you want really. On my walk to Shivam's, I was tempted to stay in Roza and be part of an impromptu sitar and flute concert - instead I drank one of their famous masala chais before trekking up, and up, and up. Others told me about a rooftop party somewhere to the left of me, while the more adventurous had opted to trek to Triund and sleep in a cave to see the eclipse from there.
Back in the present moment, the moon is a crescent for a while before turning into an orange pac-man. There are no clouds around for him to eat though - by this time Federico has come home and is amazed to learn of the disappearing moon - we watch awefully (as opposed to awfully) from the steps below my room, wondering aloud whether or not the moon will reappear, and from which direction...
At 1.15 I give up and make for my bed, happy to have watched the moon nearly disappear from view. I leave the tiny orange sliver to disappear completely and curl up in my puddle of blankets, asleep instantly in the small family house...
I have just come from Shivam's full moon musical celebration, where a wonderful harmonium player jammed with various drummers and the orange clad baba from down the hill whose voice crescendoed as they sang some devotionally rockin bhajans while we sipped chai and lemon ginger honey. I joined in and felt my whole body vibrate with the sounds within and around me, although I knew none of the words. All the while, Shivam sat on his orange blanket, twisting his hands into various mudras and swaying his body devotionally, stopping occasionally to pay homage to the many portraits of his teacher that adorned the walls.
Such are the contrasts in this valley - you can find anything you want really. On my walk to Shivam's, I was tempted to stay in Roza and be part of an impromptu sitar and flute concert - instead I drank one of their famous masala chais before trekking up, and up, and up. Others told me about a rooftop party somewhere to the left of me, while the more adventurous had opted to trek to Triund and sleep in a cave to see the eclipse from there.
Back in the present moment, the moon is a crescent for a while before turning into an orange pac-man. There are no clouds around for him to eat though - by this time Federico has come home and is amazed to learn of the disappearing moon - we watch awefully (as opposed to awfully) from the steps below my room, wondering aloud whether or not the moon will reappear, and from which direction...
At 1.15 I give up and make for my bed, happy to have watched the moon nearly disappear from view. I leave the tiny orange sliver to disappear completely and curl up in my puddle of blankets, asleep instantly in the small family house...
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Mcleod Ganj sunset, and last night's gig
I'm sitting in an internet cafe when all of a sudden a huuuuge commotion is occuring in the street outside... At first I am determined not to involve myself and continue tapping away at the typically sticky keyboard, but the sound increases and I wonder if someone's been hurt on the street outside. All of a sudden I find myself abandoning my chair and nosying it up with the locals lining the pavement. It always amuses me how people do this in Inda: how anyone's business is everyones...
However, this time we have more cause for concern - some dude with an American accent is SHOUTING his head off... screaming and carrying on about the motorbikes on the road.. from what I glean it seems one has run over his foot, and a HUGE part of me sympathises even though he is making a huge scene and continue his tirade about India as he walks up and down the street. These roads ARE insane and have changed a lot in the five years since I've visited last, with taxis and rickshaws and vans and motorbikes jostling for space with pedestrians, cows, dogs and children. From the way the man is carrying on I had wondered if someone had been killed, but it seems everyone else is fine...
I guess he has just expressed what I feel sometimes, albiet in an extreme way... weekends in both Bhagsu and McLeod are crazy, with many Punjabi weekenders competing for space here, their home state but a few hours away. Last night, from the serenity of Upper Bhagsu, where you have to walk up a steep road and then varying quantities of steep stone steps depending on which cafe you wish to frequent, a gentle Punjabi gentleman approached me asking if he could speak to me. I managed to swallow my inner cynic about what was going to follow and was pleasantly suprised at his genuine interest at why so many travellers come here...
I told him that the magic of the hills should speak for itself, but upon reflection I guess that being only a weekender he wouldn't have time to envelop himself into the community up here. Last night this same community, out of which an AMAZING Arabic-esque reggae traveller band has formed, put on a concert at Horizon cafe. The place was PACKED despite the 150 rupee entry fee (first entry fee for a gig up there yet I heard, although it was worth ten times as much and I had no qualms about opening my wallet to support wonderful musicians like them).
From their very first song they had wooed the crowd, actually even before they started they had the crowd wooed, with many of their friends filling the first two rows... they are 6 or 7 guys, I lost count, all beautiful both inside and out... the djimbe player reminds me of my friend Iain, and I want to show him a photo of him. They have the same brown smiling eyes and soul of a musician I think. The Israeli (I think???) singer has a white cloth wrapped around his dark hair. He closes his eyes and sings Arabic sounds to make ones soul swoon. Mine is unabashedly following suit on the dance floor. As is everyone elses! They play a slow song and we soon we all have our arms around each other, regardless of whether we know each other or not. It doesn't matter. I have my head on a strange man's shoulder at one stage and it all feels perfectly natural.
The singer in the middle of the stage (three of them at least are singing...) is something of a Spanish / South American rapper/freestyler and he is AMAZING! Doo wopping away in a way only he knows how to do right now, COMPLETELY one with the music - as they ALL are. It's great! The tall Frenchie at the back plays the clarinet in a Middle Eastern style, while behind the stage a guy in white they just refer to as 'Bagi' is holding his arms out in a V to the crowd as if to bless them. I am digging his energy - I am also in white and am feeling the same things - LOVE for everyone. SNAP! The energy of the crowd lifts me and I wonder how we are ever going to let this band go. They play for over an hour, an hour and a half, I don't know... and only stop when the resturanteers concur with police rule about no live music after about 11 and they play their final song unplugged after much shushing of the crowd, who are COMPLETELy hyped up by now. The last song is beautiful, although we're not fooling any noise police with all our voices joining in for the simple but beautiful chorus: "Your eyes are the window to my soul..." I could cry, but I'm too ecstatic and overexcited to produce tears.
Afterwards I meet and hug the guy I shared a shoulder with earlier, and there's talk of various afterparties at the waterfall or up the valley, as well as the invitation "EVERYONE COME TO MY HOUSE!!" from one rather beautiful dude (also in white). I'm a little bit ungrounded to say the least after all of this and retreat home, as I have realised lately that even though there are SO MANY beautiful people about, I am a loner after all and yearn to be 'home' in my beautiful space. Just when I thought I was sick of my own company it seems I wasn't and that there is much to be gained from silent time. The air is cool and I walk up the steps slowly, savouring the night. I won't forget the gig, and I'm sure there will be facebook photos from someone still able to be in control of their camera - my flailing limbs certainly weren't capable of capturing the moment in a frame other than that of my moving memory.
I'm still awake at 3 a.m that night when the rains start, and I hear the whooping somewhere distantly down the valley of the waterfall trance partygoers. I open my curtains and stare out for a minute before curling deeper into my blanket, happy for peace after the party...
However, this time we have more cause for concern - some dude with an American accent is SHOUTING his head off... screaming and carrying on about the motorbikes on the road.. from what I glean it seems one has run over his foot, and a HUGE part of me sympathises even though he is making a huge scene and continue his tirade about India as he walks up and down the street. These roads ARE insane and have changed a lot in the five years since I've visited last, with taxis and rickshaws and vans and motorbikes jostling for space with pedestrians, cows, dogs and children. From the way the man is carrying on I had wondered if someone had been killed, but it seems everyone else is fine...
I guess he has just expressed what I feel sometimes, albiet in an extreme way... weekends in both Bhagsu and McLeod are crazy, with many Punjabi weekenders competing for space here, their home state but a few hours away. Last night, from the serenity of Upper Bhagsu, where you have to walk up a steep road and then varying quantities of steep stone steps depending on which cafe you wish to frequent, a gentle Punjabi gentleman approached me asking if he could speak to me. I managed to swallow my inner cynic about what was going to follow and was pleasantly suprised at his genuine interest at why so many travellers come here...
I told him that the magic of the hills should speak for itself, but upon reflection I guess that being only a weekender he wouldn't have time to envelop himself into the community up here. Last night this same community, out of which an AMAZING Arabic-esque reggae traveller band has formed, put on a concert at Horizon cafe. The place was PACKED despite the 150 rupee entry fee (first entry fee for a gig up there yet I heard, although it was worth ten times as much and I had no qualms about opening my wallet to support wonderful musicians like them).
From their very first song they had wooed the crowd, actually even before they started they had the crowd wooed, with many of their friends filling the first two rows... they are 6 or 7 guys, I lost count, all beautiful both inside and out... the djimbe player reminds me of my friend Iain, and I want to show him a photo of him. They have the same brown smiling eyes and soul of a musician I think. The Israeli (I think???) singer has a white cloth wrapped around his dark hair. He closes his eyes and sings Arabic sounds to make ones soul swoon. Mine is unabashedly following suit on the dance floor. As is everyone elses! They play a slow song and we soon we all have our arms around each other, regardless of whether we know each other or not. It doesn't matter. I have my head on a strange man's shoulder at one stage and it all feels perfectly natural.
The singer in the middle of the stage (three of them at least are singing...) is something of a Spanish / South American rapper/freestyler and he is AMAZING! Doo wopping away in a way only he knows how to do right now, COMPLETELY one with the music - as they ALL are. It's great! The tall Frenchie at the back plays the clarinet in a Middle Eastern style, while behind the stage a guy in white they just refer to as 'Bagi' is holding his arms out in a V to the crowd as if to bless them. I am digging his energy - I am also in white and am feeling the same things - LOVE for everyone. SNAP! The energy of the crowd lifts me and I wonder how we are ever going to let this band go. They play for over an hour, an hour and a half, I don't know... and only stop when the resturanteers concur with police rule about no live music after about 11 and they play their final song unplugged after much shushing of the crowd, who are COMPLETELy hyped up by now. The last song is beautiful, although we're not fooling any noise police with all our voices joining in for the simple but beautiful chorus: "Your eyes are the window to my soul..." I could cry, but I'm too ecstatic and overexcited to produce tears.
Afterwards I meet and hug the guy I shared a shoulder with earlier, and there's talk of various afterparties at the waterfall or up the valley, as well as the invitation "EVERYONE COME TO MY HOUSE!!" from one rather beautiful dude (also in white). I'm a little bit ungrounded to say the least after all of this and retreat home, as I have realised lately that even though there are SO MANY beautiful people about, I am a loner after all and yearn to be 'home' in my beautiful space. Just when I thought I was sick of my own company it seems I wasn't and that there is much to be gained from silent time. The air is cool and I walk up the steps slowly, savouring the night. I won't forget the gig, and I'm sure there will be facebook photos from someone still able to be in control of their camera - my flailing limbs certainly weren't capable of capturing the moment in a frame other than that of my moving memory.
I'm still awake at 3 a.m that night when the rains start, and I hear the whooping somewhere distantly down the valley of the waterfall trance partygoers. I open my curtains and stare out for a minute before curling deeper into my blanket, happy for peace after the party...
Friday, June 10, 2011
Dharamkot Dawn
(Title and geographical note: Dharma Sala, where I'm staying, is a big town in the state of Himachal Pradesh that I never actually go into. Instead, a few kms up the valley lies an area called Mcleod Ganj, home of the Dalai Lama as previously mentioned and refuge to many Tibetans illegally crossing the border. I have yet to research the reasons why this place got chosen for Tibetan settlement, but I don't blame them - it is rich with beauty. Bhag Su is a smaller area up from Mcleod Ganj, although both are pretty touristic now, so Dharamkot, another are even higher in the valley, is where a lot of travellers seek refuge from the hubbub of... other travellers! Just to orientate you...)
6.30 a.m. On the road since 5 after waking, shaking, from possibly the most intense dream I've had in my LIFE! (death, earthquakes, knowing I needed to throw my body off a cliff for the survival of others. Holy crap, right? I spent breakfast discussing the finer nuances and symbols with similarly cosmic travellers, tee hee... new life, taking a leap of faith perhaps? As I'm doing, as best I can...)
Anyway, at 5 the dawn was teasing the inky blue sky outside and it called me to be out in it rather than in my warm bed surrounded by nightmarish residue. I pack my bag and flip-flop out. Bhag Su was still sleeping, but after covering my nose in the open toilet section of road right outside my guesthouse entrance (EW, India...) I begin the slow climb up the valley. Even in its slumber I could sense the different energies of the various sections: Lower BhagSu with its upmarket hotels and German bakeries, and more traveller oriented Upper Bhag Su. I walk past 'Haifa cafe', 'Zion Cafe' and 'Reggae cafe' one after the other and take the windy mountain path up, where civilised concrete transformed into roughly hew granite steps. I pass the Agama and Siddartha yoga centres and wonder to myself where the heck this cultish Osho place I've heard about might well be...
After paying my respects at a small white stone temple (all gods are one to me now - I worship all temples, mosques, cathedrals, synagogues. Mountains, waterfalls, big solid rocks like the one I am writing from), I see a girl I met yesterday, the tortoise shell of her pack keeping her head down as she hightails it to catch a bus to an organic cheese farm in Manali. It's 5.30, but I am wide awake, wish her well and walk on.
"Free Palestina" is sprayed aside a stone shed wall, and a psychedelic van adorned in Hebrew scripture sits waiting for the day to begin. The birds around me are waking me at least - today I've beaten the birds! Unheard of...
I'm kind of on a vague mission to find the Tushita meditation centre in Upper Dharamkot. The path winds up and occasionally forks into two - I choose instinctively and go up, up, up...
A BEAUTIFUL elderly Tibetan man in the maroon robes of a monk walks by, seemingly astonished to see another soul at this hour.
"Live here?" he asks, smiling a child-pure smile
"No. I live down. Today only walking" I speak back in the broken English that has become my every day speech.
"You journeying?" he enquires. I'm always journeying, I think!
"Yes, I go up," to which he shakes his head and laughs amusedly
"LIVING here?" I enquire back
He points to his right and replies "small house" and carries on with a twinkling eyed nod.
Up I go. A stone lingam, like a cairn about 2 metres high has been lovingly built on the roadside. I photograph it and try to capture myself in the image as well. Me and Shiva, huh? Beautiful.
It's 6 by this point and I can't find Tushita, beginning to feel tired and my Kapha laziness getting the better of me. so I justify to myself that I've still got to walk 4 hours uphill to Triund later today. The dogs are waking up and bark in choruses down below.
Down I go. More and more I lose the present moment and start to dream, losing the path and almost walking into someone's home at one point. I try a second, third time and again lose myself, rolling my eyes out loud at my directionless self. Giving up, I cross country it and at one stage lay my hand on a rock for support only to find small brown maggot like creatures dead in a cluster beneath me. Ew, India, I think, although the Hindu in me sees their sacredness. I wipe my hand off grassily and move on, more carefully this time.
These words are calling me to write them so I seek out a rock, climb aboard and get to the end of this sentence.
It's 7. The early morning magic has changed to a gentle peace in these Tibetan hills. Always, the peace of the Dalai Lama pervades everything, although his Mcleod Ganj home is another world away down the hill.
A crow cries, my eyes sag, and I'm hungry for banana porridge. I'm outta here...
...(took me ages!)
... and now, scribing this down at 3 pm, I still haven't got to the village of Triund... perhaps tomorrow...
6.30 a.m. On the road since 5 after waking, shaking, from possibly the most intense dream I've had in my LIFE! (death, earthquakes, knowing I needed to throw my body off a cliff for the survival of others. Holy crap, right? I spent breakfast discussing the finer nuances and symbols with similarly cosmic travellers, tee hee... new life, taking a leap of faith perhaps? As I'm doing, as best I can...)
Anyway, at 5 the dawn was teasing the inky blue sky outside and it called me to be out in it rather than in my warm bed surrounded by nightmarish residue. I pack my bag and flip-flop out. Bhag Su was still sleeping, but after covering my nose in the open toilet section of road right outside my guesthouse entrance (EW, India...) I begin the slow climb up the valley. Even in its slumber I could sense the different energies of the various sections: Lower BhagSu with its upmarket hotels and German bakeries, and more traveller oriented Upper Bhag Su. I walk past 'Haifa cafe', 'Zion Cafe' and 'Reggae cafe' one after the other and take the windy mountain path up, where civilised concrete transformed into roughly hew granite steps. I pass the Agama and Siddartha yoga centres and wonder to myself where the heck this cultish Osho place I've heard about might well be...
After paying my respects at a small white stone temple (all gods are one to me now - I worship all temples, mosques, cathedrals, synagogues. Mountains, waterfalls, big solid rocks like the one I am writing from), I see a girl I met yesterday, the tortoise shell of her pack keeping her head down as she hightails it to catch a bus to an organic cheese farm in Manali. It's 5.30, but I am wide awake, wish her well and walk on.
"Free Palestina" is sprayed aside a stone shed wall, and a psychedelic van adorned in Hebrew scripture sits waiting for the day to begin. The birds around me are waking me at least - today I've beaten the birds! Unheard of...
I'm kind of on a vague mission to find the Tushita meditation centre in Upper Dharamkot. The path winds up and occasionally forks into two - I choose instinctively and go up, up, up...
A BEAUTIFUL elderly Tibetan man in the maroon robes of a monk walks by, seemingly astonished to see another soul at this hour.
"Live here?" he asks, smiling a child-pure smile
"No. I live down. Today only walking" I speak back in the broken English that has become my every day speech.
"You journeying?" he enquires. I'm always journeying, I think!
"Yes, I go up," to which he shakes his head and laughs amusedly
"LIVING here?" I enquire back
He points to his right and replies "small house" and carries on with a twinkling eyed nod.
Up I go. A stone lingam, like a cairn about 2 metres high has been lovingly built on the roadside. I photograph it and try to capture myself in the image as well. Me and Shiva, huh? Beautiful.
It's 6 by this point and I can't find Tushita, beginning to feel tired and my Kapha laziness getting the better of me. so I justify to myself that I've still got to walk 4 hours uphill to Triund later today. The dogs are waking up and bark in choruses down below.
Down I go. More and more I lose the present moment and start to dream, losing the path and almost walking into someone's home at one point. I try a second, third time and again lose myself, rolling my eyes out loud at my directionless self. Giving up, I cross country it and at one stage lay my hand on a rock for support only to find small brown maggot like creatures dead in a cluster beneath me. Ew, India, I think, although the Hindu in me sees their sacredness. I wipe my hand off grassily and move on, more carefully this time.
These words are calling me to write them so I seek out a rock, climb aboard and get to the end of this sentence.
It's 7. The early morning magic has changed to a gentle peace in these Tibetan hills. Always, the peace of the Dalai Lama pervades everything, although his Mcleod Ganj home is another world away down the hill.
A crow cries, my eyes sag, and I'm hungry for banana porridge. I'm outta here...
...(took me ages!)
... and now, scribing this down at 3 pm, I still haven't got to the village of Triund... perhaps tomorrow...
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Beautiful Bhag Su
Some kind of change has occurred in me over the last few days. Of course it's been influenced by the Himalayan aftermath, the book I'm reading ('Yogini - discovering the goddess within' by Shambhavi Chopra, a title with potential cheese factor but actually a beautiful account of one woman's journey with spirit), and also this beautiful land of Bhag Su.
I've been rising pretty late - 9ish - after waking early at around 5.30/6 and drifting back into dreams. The last two days since I've recovered from my illness I've been doing my own yoga practise which has been beautiful actually. So, after my morning asanas and a wee spot of solo room dancing, I take to the streets of Bhag Su, ready to explore the hills.
After breakfast in a typically stoned Shiva Moon cafe (the album they have been playing six times a day in every touristic place ever since my first visit in 2004, and probably since before that even...) I wander up the hill with the vague aim of finding my old guesthouse of 5 years ago, seeing whether or not Madhu still lived there, and then walking to Dharam Kot and checking out the Tushita meditation centre there.
As I meander along, a small and humble white stone temple catches my eye and I tentatively ask a man washing dishes in the accompanying restaurant whether or not I can visit it and take a picture. He obliges and I enter, instantly feeling a deep gentle mountain peace there. I can see similarly small white stone temples across the Bhagsu valley - all beautiful and humble, my favourite kinds. I don't linger long however, as a soft rain has begun to fall - a daily occurrence here in the mountains which I love. So, I take shelter in this empty cafe, which I recognise as a place I used to frequent five years ago.
Some things are better left unedited. I believe that this is one of them. Here is what came from my journal of the time as I sip my first masala chai of the day.
***********************************************************************
Nature is overwhelmingly beautiful.
Thunder sounds in the distance, rain teases the tin roof of Sahil's famous halva cafe, the stones and greenery of the valley unbelievably alive.
I have no desire to party with the early morning Upper Bhagsu stoners, but today I will take pleasure in the same beauties we all climb these stone steps for.
This rain cleanses my being - I'm going out in it! (and I do...)
There are two dogs, one on either side of me, perhaps rivalling for my attention. The black one is the healthier choice, although I eventually pat the mangy one too, knowing the tap to wash my hands is close and will give me another chance to dash out in the rain for a while. At one stage I have a hand on each of the dogs heads and the mangy one is LOVING it - closing his eyes, leaning into my touch and blissing out. The black one licks my arm in thanks, although I'd prefer he didn't, regardless of how clean he looks.
This masala chai is gooood... lots of Kala mirch (black pepper) at the bottom. Oh yeah!
Shee-ite the rain is pelting down now. I almost don't want to read my book it's so beautiful! Amazing! And I ask for someone to come and share this moment with me...
The rain makes me cry, so I pull my shawl over my head for privacy and find a massive rock in the distance to focus on, like the one I found from my hotel balcony in Maneri two weeks ago - a rock in the midst of the Bhagirathi river, steady and stoic as the waters thrashed against it. I imagined this rock to be my mind, unflinching as all the thoughts cascaded overtop of it. Today I try to keep my focus on this Himachal stone as I wonder what to do with my big overflowing heart. SO, I plant my feet on the earth, or the concrete atop of the mountain, hold my pounamu in my left hand (I'm connecting so much more to this stone lately!) and breath deeply in, and out.
I don't want the rain to finish, and as it ebbs, flows, dips and swells, thunder rumbles reassuringly, soothingly in the distance.
I COULD WRITE FOR DAYS!
In the valley, three brightly coloured salwar kameezs are kept dry under umbrellas as ladies in hot pink, aqua marine and orange tread carefully down the hill in the wet. Another white stone temple sits silently waiting for them, infused with nature's wise, peaceful power.
My eyes are ANCIENT with longing for somebody to share this with.
And then, just as soon as it begun, the rain stops. Immediately! It shimmers again for a few seconds. Is sucked into the soil. It stops fully, and I can hear the drum circle occurring a little lower in the valley - a world I feel so far away from right now but know I'll frequent again, at the right time.
A stranger has sat down near me - the answer to my prayer? And I am suddenly shy.
The wind speaks, and I try to clear my mind as the words come in.
*************
What follows is a lovely, easy conversation with an Englishman whom I briefly referred to in my last entry about India and its contradictions. As well as this, we discuss teaching, theatre, the story of the Indian dogs (the black one is called Kalu and proves himself to be the king of the hill, barking at any goats or rival dogs that dare to walk past his perch, and the mangy looking one is actually both arthritic and epileptic - a sick wee creature hungry for a gentle human touch). I drink another masala chai and am informed that the paratha here is delicious if I'm so taken on my next visit. Which I will try, along with the halva, as there is no semolina in the valley today.
About an hour after the rain has stopped, I leave the blissful cafe and walk down the hill, which in turn leads me to Madhu's house and there she is! Sitting on the porch with her new sister-in-law. She doesn't remember me at first, although as soon as I mention my friend Abbey's name, who I shared a room with for a few weeks here all those years ago, she lights up - she always did love Abbey... soon she is pulling out the photos Abbey sent her all those years ago and calling out for her papa to come and greet me - I have good memories of him teaching me Hindi back then, and of his father smoking pipe after pipe downstairs. Turns out that grandpapa is still there, smoking pipes downstairs, although out on a wood gathering mission (??) at the moment. I guess I'll see the plume rising from his pipe next time I visit...
Back then, Madhu told us she was destined for spinsterhood, being the only girl of the family and bereft of a mother. Someone needed to look after papa-ji, so it was her duty to help arrange her brothers' marriages and then run the household, which she was doing so well even back then as a 16 year old! BUT it turns out that things have changed - elder brother has a wife now - Santosh, who I meet, a beautiful young girl who dutifully pulls her sari over her head when Papa-ji emerges. Because she now lives in her husband's father's father's home she is now technically capable of running the household, and papa tells me excitedly that Madhu is to be married in less than a monthm wondering aloud if I will be around for it! At present my visa finishes on my birthday, five days before the wedding and a plan quickly forms in my head to contact the relevant embassy and get an extension as I would dearly love to be part of this family's celebration. I take a photo of them for Abbey and promise to return with a photo of Abbey's young boy in New Zealand, less than a year old still.
Madhu hasn't changed a bit, although she tells me she is much fatter now. Not that I really notice - her nature is just as sweet and she obviously deeply loves her nephew Ahshit, the light of everybody's life who is passed around for kisses and cuddles as I drink the sweet milky chai they offer me. After another rain storm it is time to go down the mountain, perhaps to finally get to Dharamkot this time?
Seems not. As I walk down the hill I see Jesse, a Californian guitarist I first met at Sasson's chai shop in Pushkar, again in Rishikesh a week later and who has been travelling India on his Enfield for a few months now. And I meet my first Kiwi in a long long time, something of an outlaw in these parts, having not returned to New Zealand since 1970 and living in India for much of that time. Interesting dude, with henna red dreadlocks swept up sadhu style atop of whitish-grey undergrowth. It's so nice to meet another Kiwi, and as we both hail from small towns we swap our stories of growing up as weirdos in straight places. We sit for chai and Johnny joins us, a very interesting English dude studying Apache shamanism and soon to be running a workshop on such magical subjects which I'm keen to know more about.
Soon Jesse returns with his guitar and we play a Bonnie Raitt tune - 'Angel From Montgomery', a very unusual first song to play together! We go on to sing 'The Passenger', 'Man Who Sold the World', 'Stir it Up', 'Little Wing', 'Knocking on Heaven's Door (a mixture of the Bob and Axl versions) and attempt 'Walk on the Wild Side' although neither of us knows the words. Dinner arrives at once and we are silent until the Shiva Moon album comes on again - my second listen in one day! Typical of these parts, but I don't mind; Prem Joshua's tunes are still beautiful all these years later, and so... FITTING for a traveller scene that I distinctively remember not thinking I was destined for earlier today. But OH how things change, and how I'm loving it - a beautiful looking Israeli dude is getting his hair dreadlocked by the guy who sells malas outside the restaurant and the flute player that joined us for a few numbers is sitting contentedly and crossleggedly on the floor. Our Malai Kofta, Palak Paneer, Israeli salad and butter naan are delicious, and I think to myself how nice it is to share a meal with others when usually I breakfast alone, reading and writing and musing on life. Well, today I've been living it and it feels GOOD!
Although I love both worlds - walking the solo path and enjoying the splashes of community that come when I am most open to them. Today has been rich with both, and I'm SO grateful. My body aches but I document it all as usual, wondering where these words will lead me and what tomorrow will hold. Besides the early morning yoga class I commit myself to with Jesse's teacher.
I'm exhausted, and want to make it down the BhagSu hill before too long so I'll sign off now and tread carefully in my slippery flip-flops back to the haven of my guesthouse. BLESSINGS xxx
I've been rising pretty late - 9ish - after waking early at around 5.30/6 and drifting back into dreams. The last two days since I've recovered from my illness I've been doing my own yoga practise which has been beautiful actually. So, after my morning asanas and a wee spot of solo room dancing, I take to the streets of Bhag Su, ready to explore the hills.
After breakfast in a typically stoned Shiva Moon cafe (the album they have been playing six times a day in every touristic place ever since my first visit in 2004, and probably since before that even...) I wander up the hill with the vague aim of finding my old guesthouse of 5 years ago, seeing whether or not Madhu still lived there, and then walking to Dharam Kot and checking out the Tushita meditation centre there.
As I meander along, a small and humble white stone temple catches my eye and I tentatively ask a man washing dishes in the accompanying restaurant whether or not I can visit it and take a picture. He obliges and I enter, instantly feeling a deep gentle mountain peace there. I can see similarly small white stone temples across the Bhagsu valley - all beautiful and humble, my favourite kinds. I don't linger long however, as a soft rain has begun to fall - a daily occurrence here in the mountains which I love. So, I take shelter in this empty cafe, which I recognise as a place I used to frequent five years ago.
Some things are better left unedited. I believe that this is one of them. Here is what came from my journal of the time as I sip my first masala chai of the day.
***********************************************************************
Nature is overwhelmingly beautiful.
Thunder sounds in the distance, rain teases the tin roof of Sahil's famous halva cafe, the stones and greenery of the valley unbelievably alive.
I have no desire to party with the early morning Upper Bhagsu stoners, but today I will take pleasure in the same beauties we all climb these stone steps for.
This rain cleanses my being - I'm going out in it! (and I do...)
There are two dogs, one on either side of me, perhaps rivalling for my attention. The black one is the healthier choice, although I eventually pat the mangy one too, knowing the tap to wash my hands is close and will give me another chance to dash out in the rain for a while. At one stage I have a hand on each of the dogs heads and the mangy one is LOVING it - closing his eyes, leaning into my touch and blissing out. The black one licks my arm in thanks, although I'd prefer he didn't, regardless of how clean he looks.
This masala chai is gooood... lots of Kala mirch (black pepper) at the bottom. Oh yeah!
Shee-ite the rain is pelting down now. I almost don't want to read my book it's so beautiful! Amazing! And I ask for someone to come and share this moment with me...
The rain makes me cry, so I pull my shawl over my head for privacy and find a massive rock in the distance to focus on, like the one I found from my hotel balcony in Maneri two weeks ago - a rock in the midst of the Bhagirathi river, steady and stoic as the waters thrashed against it. I imagined this rock to be my mind, unflinching as all the thoughts cascaded overtop of it. Today I try to keep my focus on this Himachal stone as I wonder what to do with my big overflowing heart. SO, I plant my feet on the earth, or the concrete atop of the mountain, hold my pounamu in my left hand (I'm connecting so much more to this stone lately!) and breath deeply in, and out.
I don't want the rain to finish, and as it ebbs, flows, dips and swells, thunder rumbles reassuringly, soothingly in the distance.
I COULD WRITE FOR DAYS!
In the valley, three brightly coloured salwar kameezs are kept dry under umbrellas as ladies in hot pink, aqua marine and orange tread carefully down the hill in the wet. Another white stone temple sits silently waiting for them, infused with nature's wise, peaceful power.
My eyes are ANCIENT with longing for somebody to share this with.
And then, just as soon as it begun, the rain stops. Immediately! It shimmers again for a few seconds. Is sucked into the soil. It stops fully, and I can hear the drum circle occurring a little lower in the valley - a world I feel so far away from right now but know I'll frequent again, at the right time.
A stranger has sat down near me - the answer to my prayer? And I am suddenly shy.
The wind speaks, and I try to clear my mind as the words come in.
*************
What follows is a lovely, easy conversation with an Englishman whom I briefly referred to in my last entry about India and its contradictions. As well as this, we discuss teaching, theatre, the story of the Indian dogs (the black one is called Kalu and proves himself to be the king of the hill, barking at any goats or rival dogs that dare to walk past his perch, and the mangy looking one is actually both arthritic and epileptic - a sick wee creature hungry for a gentle human touch). I drink another masala chai and am informed that the paratha here is delicious if I'm so taken on my next visit. Which I will try, along with the halva, as there is no semolina in the valley today.
About an hour after the rain has stopped, I leave the blissful cafe and walk down the hill, which in turn leads me to Madhu's house and there she is! Sitting on the porch with her new sister-in-law. She doesn't remember me at first, although as soon as I mention my friend Abbey's name, who I shared a room with for a few weeks here all those years ago, she lights up - she always did love Abbey... soon she is pulling out the photos Abbey sent her all those years ago and calling out for her papa to come and greet me - I have good memories of him teaching me Hindi back then, and of his father smoking pipe after pipe downstairs. Turns out that grandpapa is still there, smoking pipes downstairs, although out on a wood gathering mission (??) at the moment. I guess I'll see the plume rising from his pipe next time I visit...
Back then, Madhu told us she was destined for spinsterhood, being the only girl of the family and bereft of a mother. Someone needed to look after papa-ji, so it was her duty to help arrange her brothers' marriages and then run the household, which she was doing so well even back then as a 16 year old! BUT it turns out that things have changed - elder brother has a wife now - Santosh, who I meet, a beautiful young girl who dutifully pulls her sari over her head when Papa-ji emerges. Because she now lives in her husband's father's father's home she is now technically capable of running the household, and papa tells me excitedly that Madhu is to be married in less than a monthm wondering aloud if I will be around for it! At present my visa finishes on my birthday, five days before the wedding and a plan quickly forms in my head to contact the relevant embassy and get an extension as I would dearly love to be part of this family's celebration. I take a photo of them for Abbey and promise to return with a photo of Abbey's young boy in New Zealand, less than a year old still.
Madhu hasn't changed a bit, although she tells me she is much fatter now. Not that I really notice - her nature is just as sweet and she obviously deeply loves her nephew Ahshit, the light of everybody's life who is passed around for kisses and cuddles as I drink the sweet milky chai they offer me. After another rain storm it is time to go down the mountain, perhaps to finally get to Dharamkot this time?
Seems not. As I walk down the hill I see Jesse, a Californian guitarist I first met at Sasson's chai shop in Pushkar, again in Rishikesh a week later and who has been travelling India on his Enfield for a few months now. And I meet my first Kiwi in a long long time, something of an outlaw in these parts, having not returned to New Zealand since 1970 and living in India for much of that time. Interesting dude, with henna red dreadlocks swept up sadhu style atop of whitish-grey undergrowth. It's so nice to meet another Kiwi, and as we both hail from small towns we swap our stories of growing up as weirdos in straight places. We sit for chai and Johnny joins us, a very interesting English dude studying Apache shamanism and soon to be running a workshop on such magical subjects which I'm keen to know more about.
Soon Jesse returns with his guitar and we play a Bonnie Raitt tune - 'Angel From Montgomery', a very unusual first song to play together! We go on to sing 'The Passenger', 'Man Who Sold the World', 'Stir it Up', 'Little Wing', 'Knocking on Heaven's Door (a mixture of the Bob and Axl versions) and attempt 'Walk on the Wild Side' although neither of us knows the words. Dinner arrives at once and we are silent until the Shiva Moon album comes on again - my second listen in one day! Typical of these parts, but I don't mind; Prem Joshua's tunes are still beautiful all these years later, and so... FITTING for a traveller scene that I distinctively remember not thinking I was destined for earlier today. But OH how things change, and how I'm loving it - a beautiful looking Israeli dude is getting his hair dreadlocked by the guy who sells malas outside the restaurant and the flute player that joined us for a few numbers is sitting contentedly and crossleggedly on the floor. Our Malai Kofta, Palak Paneer, Israeli salad and butter naan are delicious, and I think to myself how nice it is to share a meal with others when usually I breakfast alone, reading and writing and musing on life. Well, today I've been living it and it feels GOOD!
Although I love both worlds - walking the solo path and enjoying the splashes of community that come when I am most open to them. Today has been rich with both, and I'm SO grateful. My body aches but I document it all as usual, wondering where these words will lead me and what tomorrow will hold. Besides the early morning yoga class I commit myself to with Jesse's teacher.
I'm exhausted, and want to make it down the BhagSu hill before too long so I'll sign off now and tread carefully in my slippery flip-flops back to the haven of my guesthouse. BLESSINGS xxx
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