The drive from Pune to Bombay was the easiest so far. Three hours on fairly good roads and a pleasant conversation with a Canadian girl who sits across the aisle from me. Yes, I've moved to the back of the bus and I now sit next to a lovely Spanish lady. Her energy/temperament is calm and soothing, just what a pita (fire) personality like me needs. We are staying at an Ashram in what I call Ashram row. It's on a hill not far from Nerul West train station, alas two to three hours to the famous arch known as the Gateway to India. Bombay is a huge city of some twenty million people and the most mind boggling mix of poverty and opulence. And pollution. A hazy aura hangs permanently over the city, but I still find wearing a dust mask too cumbersome. My lungs and throat feel the strain though. Delhi is still two weeks away but a number of people could not wait that long to develop Delhi Belly. I will not talk here of the intimately shared bathroom confidences, and I assure you that I could write a whole chapter or two on the subject. But I am still chuckling at two of my own experiences during our routine stops on long bus journeys. One was at night; I thought I had spotted the perfect "bush" only to find as I came closer that this bush mooed and looked at me in the eyes. Another time, upon hearing that I needed a bush, an Israeli girl asked me "Do you need big or small?" I hesitated a second while I translated the question in my mind and then said:"Small." "Ok, I have," she replied. "Follow me." Anyway, touch wood and not too much of the saucy, oily food, Delhi Belly has not affected me yet.
I like being in Bombay, because there are shops, restaurants and a city energy that makes one want to be out and about. So much for wanting to come to India for a bit of introspection. I got on a rickshaw with my French friend Miriam, and we went to a place called Barrista where I paid one hundred and seven Rupees for a cold latte with whipped cream. Sitting outside we saw Lars and Kaivalya drive by on another rickshaw, and when they saw us they immediately got off. For the same distance they paid their rickshaw driver ten Rupees while we paid twenty. Within half an hour we were joined by four more people including a young couple from Staten Island. After my hundred and seven Rupee coffee, I crossed the road and had a delicious four Rupee, freshly squeezed sugar cane juice with lemon but no ice, thank you. My friend Nancy from Scranton, PA is leaving tomorrow, but my friend Nancy from NY arrived last night for the second half of the tour.
I am looking at a bay from the balcony of the hall I share with the other hundred and fifty women on the tour. Someone is playing the guitar. Lars has been called away to treat a severe case of vomiting and diarrhea. When he comes back a group of us will walk down the hill to the other side of the station to a hole in the wall that makes the most scrumptious lassis I've ever had. At six o'clock this evening, I will do my share of veggie chopping. Balancing the chopping board on my knees as I have done several times now, I will reflect on the fact that the crux of the problem is a matter of balance. Life itself is all about striking the right balance.
Lassi, here I come.
Esmeralda
Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Hyderabad - Washim - Pune
I am not sure of the date or even the day of the week. The journey from Mangalore to Hyderabad has been the worst for me so far. We left at noon and drove until 7:30 am the following morning. I have no idea where we then stopped, but there was breakfast, Chai and somewhere to wash and put our mats down, until we set off again at noon. We reached Hyderabad at four the morning after that. By the time we unloaded, unrolled our bedding, washed ourselves and our smalls, it was six in the morning. I am in the dumps again, the stress on my body and my mind has been almost beyond my endurance. Sitting on our swaying, jolting bus for hours and hours, I have prayed for detachment. I have tried to find that place within that is forever peaceful. I shall keep trying. This is after all the purpose of the journey. Unmoved by everything but the Self.
The program in Hyderabad last night was huge again. Over fifty thousand people filled the stadium. I am glad I didn't go. I didn't feel well, my throat was sore again and I developed a nasty skin rash. I need rest and clean, uncrowded lavatories.
While dozing on and off I would think of my children and husband and cry. I miss them. I have noticed one thing though; on those long, numbing drives, my mind seems to become still. Even if drenched in misery, I am fully present in it. The past of even a week ago seems so distant as to be almost beyond reach. The future has no place here. Anything beyond now has no meaning. I have been asked about Bruno. He is coping the best he can. Initially I took him everywhere I went, but all he did was remind me of when the children were little. And I cried so much as a result that I've had to stop taking him with me. We now do our own thing and meet from time to time. I am sure that he will want to write his own story at some point. Bye for now.
We leave for Washim within the hour, Pune after that.
I am now in Washim. We arrived at about three thirty in the morning, in bed (on the floor) by five. We are staying in a wedding hall, but I thought it was an abandoned warehouse. One hundred and fifty women in one big hall. I was fine inside my mosquito net.
Thousands upon thousands came to see Amma for the maiden program in Washim. The crowds were excited and eager to get close to her any way they could. Even when they tried to climb on the stage, they were smiling. They were so happy to have Amma in their midst. Again I was awed at finding myself on the stage behind her, timing the prasad givers. We left for Pune as soon as Darshan ended at eleven o'clock the next day and by the time I laid my bones down again, it was six o'clock the following morning.
For some of the people on the tour, this is the last stop; when we leave for Bombay tomorrow, they will go home or back to the Ashram. A handful of people have left already. I am digging in for the long haul. I am not going to quit. This was never meant to be a holiday but a veritable spiritual boot camp, and through every difficulty that I face, I see a different aspect of myself and I can choose how I respond. I am now sitting in the shade at the Brahmasthanam Temple, facing Ganesh, the remover of obstacles. I will meditate for a while.
Om Namah Sivaya
The program in Hyderabad last night was huge again. Over fifty thousand people filled the stadium. I am glad I didn't go. I didn't feel well, my throat was sore again and I developed a nasty skin rash. I need rest and clean, uncrowded lavatories.
While dozing on and off I would think of my children and husband and cry. I miss them. I have noticed one thing though; on those long, numbing drives, my mind seems to become still. Even if drenched in misery, I am fully present in it. The past of even a week ago seems so distant as to be almost beyond reach. The future has no place here. Anything beyond now has no meaning. I have been asked about Bruno. He is coping the best he can. Initially I took him everywhere I went, but all he did was remind me of when the children were little. And I cried so much as a result that I've had to stop taking him with me. We now do our own thing and meet from time to time. I am sure that he will want to write his own story at some point. Bye for now.
We leave for Washim within the hour, Pune after that.
I am now in Washim. We arrived at about three thirty in the morning, in bed (on the floor) by five. We are staying in a wedding hall, but I thought it was an abandoned warehouse. One hundred and fifty women in one big hall. I was fine inside my mosquito net.
Thousands upon thousands came to see Amma for the maiden program in Washim. The crowds were excited and eager to get close to her any way they could. Even when they tried to climb on the stage, they were smiling. They were so happy to have Amma in their midst. Again I was awed at finding myself on the stage behind her, timing the prasad givers. We left for Pune as soon as Darshan ended at eleven o'clock the next day and by the time I laid my bones down again, it was six o'clock the following morning.
For some of the people on the tour, this is the last stop; when we leave for Bombay tomorrow, they will go home or back to the Ashram. A handful of people have left already. I am digging in for the long haul. I am not going to quit. This was never meant to be a holiday but a veritable spiritual boot camp, and through every difficulty that I face, I see a different aspect of myself and I can choose how I respond. I am now sitting in the shade at the Brahmasthanam Temple, facing Ganesh, the remover of obstacles. I will meditate for a while.
Om Namah Sivaya
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Mangalore
We never know at what time we leave. It depends on when Darshan ends.
I was still lying on my mat, when I heard Priyan call out for big bags and bed rolls to be loaded. We're leaving within the hour. I sprang up, washed, took the mosquito net down, rolled up my bedding, zipped my duffle bag and was out of the door in ten minutes.
I was in my seat when Bhavya, my Neapolitan friend, climbed on the bus.
“I am looking for a river,” she said. “Tell me if you see one, I have to throw this coconut in a river.”
“As soon as I see one, you’ll be the first one to know,” I assured her.
“I did a Rahu Pooja, and now I have to throw the coconut in a river:”
For the next few hours we examined every lake, puddle, ditch, marsh and rice field.
“Are you sure it’s a river?” she would ask. “It has to be a river, it has to flow.”
At our C & P stop we see water in the distance and I tease her that the Ganges has been brought over, so that she can throw her coconut in it.
In the early afternoon there came a moment when all the elements fitted together. We were driving past a river (I think it was a river), the bus had slowed down and we were close enough to it.
“Now, Bhavya, now! Throw, hard as you can!” I shouted.
“Are you sure it’s a river?”
“Throw for God’s sake, or we’ll be stuck with this coconut forever.”
“OK, ok, I am throwing,” she says leaning across me to the window and raising her arm.
By now Lars and Kaivalya (the doctors) were laughing.
“Goal! Naples scores, one to nil;” I announced.
“Are you sure it was a river?”
At about three thirty we stopped at a coffee curing farm for lunch and as we sat on the grass, Amma served everybody their food. By four thirty we had climbed back on our buses for the next stretch of the drive. The downhill roads were steep, narrow, full of potholes and oncoming traffic. For what seemed like hours, we proceeded at ten miles an hour. But I had limited my drinking to small sips and in the “water” department, I was ok.
It wasn’t until eleven that we found an open field where we could stop for dinner and as usual the local police took up their position as Amma’s escort.
I stood behind Amma’s chair and watched her pass the dinner plates to everyone and I was struck anew by the energy and love that emanated from her being. This journey was challenging me at all levels; physically, mentally and spiritually and yet I felt that in travelling with Amma I was in a privileged position.
“God’s love in a human form,” was how Jane Goodall had introduced Amma to the UN, when she was given the Gandhi-King award. I was experiencing that love, as had the thirty million throughout the world that she had already hugged. For now though, we still had to get to Mangalore. It was three in the morning when we drove through the gates of the program site, on the grounds of Amma’s local school.
I quickly found my room, a classroom on the fourth floor, and chose a prime spot in a corner by one of two windows. Next we all helped unload the luggage and by the time I staggered up the steep stairs to my patch on the floor, I was panting and wishing that someone would carry my luggage and that I would be climbing into my own comfortable bed. Still, I kept going. I have become quite good at setting up camp. In Bangalore I bought a clothes’ line and a large straw mat. The thermarest is really narrow, but with the straw mat underneath, my knees and elbows wouldn’t spill on to the floor every time I turned. And using the clothes line to put the mosquito net up, my little corner on the floor didn’t quite look like a center hall colonial, but it looked quite cozy nevertheless, and gave me some privacy from the other sixteen women in the room. I still mind waiting in line for the bathroom or a bucket shower, but not as much, and my own showers are shorter so as not to keep the next person in line waiting too long. I haven’t worn make up since I left home and neither have I seen myself in the mirror very much (I don’t have one) and I have to say that it is a freeing experience.
I do miss my family terribly, even more now that my newly acquired Indian cell phone will not allow me to make any outgoing calls, even though I have a thousand rupees credit.
Anyway, that’s it for now. I have to go and do my two to five veggie chopping shift, that’s my seva (selfless service) on the tour.
Oh, one last thing, through the coconut trees from my room, I see what looks like a bay and boats that resemble Venetian gondolas.
Next stop will be Hyderabad a two day bus ride from here.
Baci e Abbracci,
Esmeralda
PS. Yesterday Amma consecrated a new Brahmasthanam Temple here in Mangalore. I have no time to go into details now (I will in the book) but I wanted to mention it at least. What an extraordinary experience.
In the early evening I went for a swim in the sea (the Arabian sea) with Kaivalya and Lars, and even though I was wearing a cumbersome Indian dress, I enjoyed it. There was a dog on the beach, he had caught some small prey and an eagle came and took it from him. The dog looked really bewildered and ran after the eagle, but soon gave up as the bird was quickly back up in the sky.
I was still lying on my mat, when I heard Priyan call out for big bags and bed rolls to be loaded. We're leaving within the hour. I sprang up, washed, took the mosquito net down, rolled up my bedding, zipped my duffle bag and was out of the door in ten minutes.
I was in my seat when Bhavya, my Neapolitan friend, climbed on the bus.
“I am looking for a river,” she said. “Tell me if you see one, I have to throw this coconut in a river.”
“As soon as I see one, you’ll be the first one to know,” I assured her.
“I did a Rahu Pooja, and now I have to throw the coconut in a river:”
For the next few hours we examined every lake, puddle, ditch, marsh and rice field.
“Are you sure it’s a river?” she would ask. “It has to be a river, it has to flow.”
At our C & P stop we see water in the distance and I tease her that the Ganges has been brought over, so that she can throw her coconut in it.
In the early afternoon there came a moment when all the elements fitted together. We were driving past a river (I think it was a river), the bus had slowed down and we were close enough to it.
“Now, Bhavya, now! Throw, hard as you can!” I shouted.
“Are you sure it’s a river?”
“Throw for God’s sake, or we’ll be stuck with this coconut forever.”
“OK, ok, I am throwing,” she says leaning across me to the window and raising her arm.
By now Lars and Kaivalya (the doctors) were laughing.
“Goal! Naples scores, one to nil;” I announced.
“Are you sure it was a river?”
At about three thirty we stopped at a coffee curing farm for lunch and as we sat on the grass, Amma served everybody their food. By four thirty we had climbed back on our buses for the next stretch of the drive. The downhill roads were steep, narrow, full of potholes and oncoming traffic. For what seemed like hours, we proceeded at ten miles an hour. But I had limited my drinking to small sips and in the “water” department, I was ok.
It wasn’t until eleven that we found an open field where we could stop for dinner and as usual the local police took up their position as Amma’s escort.
I stood behind Amma’s chair and watched her pass the dinner plates to everyone and I was struck anew by the energy and love that emanated from her being. This journey was challenging me at all levels; physically, mentally and spiritually and yet I felt that in travelling with Amma I was in a privileged position.
“God’s love in a human form,” was how Jane Goodall had introduced Amma to the UN, when she was given the Gandhi-King award. I was experiencing that love, as had the thirty million throughout the world that she had already hugged. For now though, we still had to get to Mangalore. It was three in the morning when we drove through the gates of the program site, on the grounds of Amma’s local school.
I quickly found my room, a classroom on the fourth floor, and chose a prime spot in a corner by one of two windows. Next we all helped unload the luggage and by the time I staggered up the steep stairs to my patch on the floor, I was panting and wishing that someone would carry my luggage and that I would be climbing into my own comfortable bed. Still, I kept going. I have become quite good at setting up camp. In Bangalore I bought a clothes’ line and a large straw mat. The thermarest is really narrow, but with the straw mat underneath, my knees and elbows wouldn’t spill on to the floor every time I turned. And using the clothes line to put the mosquito net up, my little corner on the floor didn’t quite look like a center hall colonial, but it looked quite cozy nevertheless, and gave me some privacy from the other sixteen women in the room. I still mind waiting in line for the bathroom or a bucket shower, but not as much, and my own showers are shorter so as not to keep the next person in line waiting too long. I haven’t worn make up since I left home and neither have I seen myself in the mirror very much (I don’t have one) and I have to say that it is a freeing experience.
I do miss my family terribly, even more now that my newly acquired Indian cell phone will not allow me to make any outgoing calls, even though I have a thousand rupees credit.
Anyway, that’s it for now. I have to go and do my two to five veggie chopping shift, that’s my seva (selfless service) on the tour.
Oh, one last thing, through the coconut trees from my room, I see what looks like a bay and boats that resemble Venetian gondolas.
Next stop will be Hyderabad a two day bus ride from here.
Baci e Abbracci,
Esmeralda
PS. Yesterday Amma consecrated a new Brahmasthanam Temple here in Mangalore. I have no time to go into details now (I will in the book) but I wanted to mention it at least. What an extraordinary experience.
In the early evening I went for a swim in the sea (the Arabian sea) with Kaivalya and Lars, and even though I was wearing a cumbersome Indian dress, I enjoyed it. There was a dog on the beach, he had caught some small prey and an eagle came and took it from him. The dog looked really bewildered and ran after the eagle, but soon gave up as the bird was quickly back up in the sky.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Hello From Bangalore
It was long, but I did enjoy the drive from Talassery to Bangalore. The scenery kept me glued to the window for hours. And Miriam, a lively French girl my age sitting in front of me, was game enough to take my camera and snap away for me.
The day was misty and at times rainy, lending the alternating views of mountains and deep valleys a mystical quality. Rice fields gave way to tea and coffee plantations and bamboo forests. There was still enough daylight to photograph the two monkeys sitting on a wall, but it was nighttime when we spotted an elephant herd barely visible amongst the trees.
Whenever our convoy drove through a village or town, people would look at us and waive and, like children on a school field trip, we would excitedly waive back and laugh.
In the early evening Amma’s car overtook us and we all waived like mad. By the time we found a suitable place to stop, a field five hours out from Bangalore, it was after eight o’clock in the evening. Before most of us had got off the buses, lights and sound system were already in place and dinner was being cooked in a huge pot on a fire pit in the ground.
Sitting on the ground around Amma, we sang Indian Bhajans for an hour or so, while dinner was cooking. It was a special time, away from the crowds, with Amma all to ourselves.
But we still had a long way to go and all too soon it seemed, it was time to drive on.
It was almost three in the morning when our buses pulled into the courtyard of Amma’s engineering school and Ashram in Bangalore. Quickly grabbing our bags and backpacks, we went to find our rooms and then went through the routine of putting up our mosquito nets and unpacking our bed rolls. After a bucket shower, I found my Alka-Seltzer Plus from my case and dissolved it in a cup of water before drinking it. On the last stretch of the drive, I had started to feel unwell, my throat hurt and I felt feverish. The alka seltzer would help me sleep, and tomorrow would be another day. But the following day I felt really ill and I went to see the doctor, who after examining me, told me that I had pharyngitis and put me on antibiotics.
What started my latest bout of crying was discovering that my newly acquired Indian cell phone will not allow me to make any outgoing calls. It is fully charged, both battery and money wise. I have spoken to a countless number of people about it, yet no one can do anything . And because I have been sick, I haven’t been able to go and find an internet place and email my husband to please call me. And so I cried, and I asked myself why I was crying. Well, I am on a diet! I have given up (for the time being) everything that I am familiar with, and everyone I love. And I don't like it.
When my mother's younger brother, my uncle Giovanni, heard that I was going to India, he asked me why.
“Because I want to be free. Free from being dependent on external things for my happiness. I want to learn to be happy whether I am sleeping on the floor or on a bed. I don’t want to be dependent on food, on people, on anything. I want to be able to enjoy something if it is there, and not mind if it is not,” I explained. He listened attentively and wished me luck but he also reminded me of an Italian saying which says that it is easy to go: " Dalle stalle alle stelle" - from a hovel to the stars - but not the other way around.
He is right of course, and I am suffering from severe withdrawal symptoms. One thing that I am grateful for is that I am not hungry most of the time. It is almost lunchtime now, and I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday, other than a couple of sweet chais and the water of a coconut. Thank goodness, because I am sick of Indian food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Not that it isn’t good, on the contrary it is delicious, but I would love a nice big salad, maybe some nice roast vegetables with some couscous. Right, enough of that.
I would also love a nice latte and the comfort of my favourite armchair. But no latte today, or tomorrow either, or anytime soon. I have discovered that I really do not like crowds. And that is tough, because wherever Amma goes, there are huge crowds and since I am travelling with Amma, I won’t be able to get away from them until the end of the tour in Calcutta at the end of March, but who knows, by then I might have learned not to mind.
And actually who knows what else I might have learned by then. But the thing is - that is then and this is now and it is only the middle of February. Tomorrow we leave for Mangalore and I almost look forward to the bus drive, sitting comfortably and chatting with my Neapolitan bus companion. I don't feel as introspective as I did when we left Amritapuri.
The day was misty and at times rainy, lending the alternating views of mountains and deep valleys a mystical quality. Rice fields gave way to tea and coffee plantations and bamboo forests. There was still enough daylight to photograph the two monkeys sitting on a wall, but it was nighttime when we spotted an elephant herd barely visible amongst the trees.
Whenever our convoy drove through a village or town, people would look at us and waive and, like children on a school field trip, we would excitedly waive back and laugh.
In the early evening Amma’s car overtook us and we all waived like mad. By the time we found a suitable place to stop, a field five hours out from Bangalore, it was after eight o’clock in the evening. Before most of us had got off the buses, lights and sound system were already in place and dinner was being cooked in a huge pot on a fire pit in the ground.
Sitting on the ground around Amma, we sang Indian Bhajans for an hour or so, while dinner was cooking. It was a special time, away from the crowds, with Amma all to ourselves.
But we still had a long way to go and all too soon it seemed, it was time to drive on.
It was almost three in the morning when our buses pulled into the courtyard of Amma’s engineering school and Ashram in Bangalore. Quickly grabbing our bags and backpacks, we went to find our rooms and then went through the routine of putting up our mosquito nets and unpacking our bed rolls. After a bucket shower, I found my Alka-Seltzer Plus from my case and dissolved it in a cup of water before drinking it. On the last stretch of the drive, I had started to feel unwell, my throat hurt and I felt feverish. The alka seltzer would help me sleep, and tomorrow would be another day. But the following day I felt really ill and I went to see the doctor, who after examining me, told me that I had pharyngitis and put me on antibiotics.
What started my latest bout of crying was discovering that my newly acquired Indian cell phone will not allow me to make any outgoing calls. It is fully charged, both battery and money wise. I have spoken to a countless number of people about it, yet no one can do anything . And because I have been sick, I haven’t been able to go and find an internet place and email my husband to please call me. And so I cried, and I asked myself why I was crying. Well, I am on a diet! I have given up (for the time being) everything that I am familiar with, and everyone I love. And I don't like it.
When my mother's younger brother, my uncle Giovanni, heard that I was going to India, he asked me why.
“Because I want to be free. Free from being dependent on external things for my happiness. I want to learn to be happy whether I am sleeping on the floor or on a bed. I don’t want to be dependent on food, on people, on anything. I want to be able to enjoy something if it is there, and not mind if it is not,” I explained. He listened attentively and wished me luck but he also reminded me of an Italian saying which says that it is easy to go: " Dalle stalle alle stelle" - from a hovel to the stars - but not the other way around.
He is right of course, and I am suffering from severe withdrawal symptoms. One thing that I am grateful for is that I am not hungry most of the time. It is almost lunchtime now, and I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday, other than a couple of sweet chais and the water of a coconut. Thank goodness, because I am sick of Indian food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Not that it isn’t good, on the contrary it is delicious, but I would love a nice big salad, maybe some nice roast vegetables with some couscous. Right, enough of that.
I would also love a nice latte and the comfort of my favourite armchair. But no latte today, or tomorrow either, or anytime soon. I have discovered that I really do not like crowds. And that is tough, because wherever Amma goes, there are huge crowds and since I am travelling with Amma, I won’t be able to get away from them until the end of the tour in Calcutta at the end of March, but who knows, by then I might have learned not to mind.
And actually who knows what else I might have learned by then. But the thing is - that is then and this is now and it is only the middle of February. Tomorrow we leave for Mangalore and I almost look forward to the bus drive, sitting comfortably and chatting with my Neapolitan bus companion. I don't feel as introspective as I did when we left Amritapuri.
Bye for now,
Esmeralda
PS Thank you to all my friends who have emailed me their encouragement. It has given me a big boost. Being able to go on the internet has also helped, and sharing a rickshaw with my new German friends (the doctors) was fun. Rickshaw drivers are something else. They are not afraid of big buses, they slide right underneath them, or so it seems.
Oh well.
Oh well.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Already In Trouble
Yesterday felt like hell. Only I think there are many degrees of hell, and I suspect they are even worse.
The bus dropped us off at the stadium where Amma’s program was being held in Kannur. And it is just as well that it left straight away or I would have turned around and gone back.
I mean back home.
Amma was not due for another three hours but the huge stadium was already half full and busload after busload kept arriving. Cheerful, friendly people willing to wait for Amma for however long it took. By the time Amma arrived at six thirty, over forty thousand Darshan tokens had been given out and there were more than twice that number of people in the stadium, peacefully waiting for their turn to be in Amma’s arms. This was the first time I saw Amma at a public program in India, and I was overwhelmed.
Taking my newly acquired apron out of my Mary Poppins bag, I followed my vegetable chopping companions as we searched for the kitchen. When we found it just outside the stadium, we discovered that there was to be no veggie chopping needed that day.
Good, I thought. I didn’t much fancy being in that hot, makeshift kitchen for three hours anyway, and I set about looking for a bathroom with one of the two women, a German lady who had lived at Amma’s Ashram for years. And it showed, for when we found the bathrooms on the other side of the stadium, the line was long and deep, and while I was horrified, my companion was unperturbed.
“At least there is one bathroom,” she said, her countenance perfectly serene. And I wanted to tell her to get off her saintly pedestal and be real, but I didn’t.
I didn’t want to be in the sun, in that line, waiting for my turn to pee. But what choice did I have? None. Actually that’s not true; I could accept the situation gracefully and concentrate on something else. But it is not easy, not when one is used to having one's needs met almost at once as we are in the West. And we think that it is something to be proud of. Impatience is something we wear like a badge of honor.
Anyway, taking pity on me because of my badly swollen feet and ankles, the woman I was with suggested I sat down while she waited in line. And I sat on one of the police chairs in full view of the bathroom. In time, about thirty minutes later our turn came. Walking away afterward, I thought in despair of when I would have to go again, “But maybe I won’t stay too long” I told myself. And then I discovered that there were two buses going back, one at the end of the program and the other at two am. My heart sank, but I gritted my teeth and drank very little: even then I would have to use the bathroom three more times, and, as the day progressed, my body started signalling that it was getting ready to spend what it had been saving up for two days. And it was more than a penny. As I rolled the Prasad near the stage later on in the evening, I prayed that when the moment came, I’d have the strength to stand in line and hold my own, wait while I squatted. I was way out of my comfort zone, forced to reach deep within to find the resolve to cope. And yet I was also in awe at being part of the group of people who travelled with Amma.
Sitting behind her chair later in the evening, timing those who handed Amma the Prasad, I watched as one by one the thousand upon thousand who had come for her Darshan, were taken into her arms. I cried with gratitude that whatever else I had been through in life, or whatever I was going through on this journey, I was at this very moment within touching distance of the Guru. And when my turn ended, I did touch her before making room for the next person.
When the bus came at two o’clock, I could hardly walk with exhaustion. I made my way out of the stadium, but Amma stayed and so did the thousands still waiting in line for their turn to be in Amma’s arms.
I fell into my seat on the bus, a thousand uncried tears crowded my breast, and no longer able to suppress them I sobbed helplessly. When I gave birth to my first child I had also felt helpless. The epidural had not worked and the pain of each contraction felt as if it was going to kill me. But my daughter was going to be born, the labour could not be stopped, and the only way out of it, was through it. I experienced the same helplessness when I stopped smoking. There comes a time when tomorrow has to become today and the work has to start.
By the time we pulled into the courtyard of “home”, it was three in the morning, yet I couldn’t go to sleep without first washing off the brown dust that clung to my hair and body. Afterwards I was glad to lie down, albeit on the floor and for the first time in a week, I slept.
When I got up the following morning, Amma was still giving Darshan until the last of the thousands got their hug at eleven forty-five in the morning.
And today is another day.
The bus dropped us off at the stadium where Amma’s program was being held in Kannur. And it is just as well that it left straight away or I would have turned around and gone back.
I mean back home.
Amma was not due for another three hours but the huge stadium was already half full and busload after busload kept arriving. Cheerful, friendly people willing to wait for Amma for however long it took. By the time Amma arrived at six thirty, over forty thousand Darshan tokens had been given out and there were more than twice that number of people in the stadium, peacefully waiting for their turn to be in Amma’s arms. This was the first time I saw Amma at a public program in India, and I was overwhelmed.
Taking my newly acquired apron out of my Mary Poppins bag, I followed my vegetable chopping companions as we searched for the kitchen. When we found it just outside the stadium, we discovered that there was to be no veggie chopping needed that day.
Good, I thought. I didn’t much fancy being in that hot, makeshift kitchen for three hours anyway, and I set about looking for a bathroom with one of the two women, a German lady who had lived at Amma’s Ashram for years. And it showed, for when we found the bathrooms on the other side of the stadium, the line was long and deep, and while I was horrified, my companion was unperturbed.
“At least there is one bathroom,” she said, her countenance perfectly serene. And I wanted to tell her to get off her saintly pedestal and be real, but I didn’t.
I didn’t want to be in the sun, in that line, waiting for my turn to pee. But what choice did I have? None. Actually that’s not true; I could accept the situation gracefully and concentrate on something else. But it is not easy, not when one is used to having one's needs met almost at once as we are in the West. And we think that it is something to be proud of. Impatience is something we wear like a badge of honor.
Anyway, taking pity on me because of my badly swollen feet and ankles, the woman I was with suggested I sat down while she waited in line. And I sat on one of the police chairs in full view of the bathroom. In time, about thirty minutes later our turn came. Walking away afterward, I thought in despair of when I would have to go again, “But maybe I won’t stay too long” I told myself. And then I discovered that there were two buses going back, one at the end of the program and the other at two am. My heart sank, but I gritted my teeth and drank very little: even then I would have to use the bathroom three more times, and, as the day progressed, my body started signalling that it was getting ready to spend what it had been saving up for two days. And it was more than a penny. As I rolled the Prasad near the stage later on in the evening, I prayed that when the moment came, I’d have the strength to stand in line and hold my own, wait while I squatted. I was way out of my comfort zone, forced to reach deep within to find the resolve to cope. And yet I was also in awe at being part of the group of people who travelled with Amma.
Sitting behind her chair later in the evening, timing those who handed Amma the Prasad, I watched as one by one the thousand upon thousand who had come for her Darshan, were taken into her arms. I cried with gratitude that whatever else I had been through in life, or whatever I was going through on this journey, I was at this very moment within touching distance of the Guru. And when my turn ended, I did touch her before making room for the next person.
When the bus came at two o’clock, I could hardly walk with exhaustion. I made my way out of the stadium, but Amma stayed and so did the thousands still waiting in line for their turn to be in Amma’s arms.
I fell into my seat on the bus, a thousand uncried tears crowded my breast, and no longer able to suppress them I sobbed helplessly. When I gave birth to my first child I had also felt helpless. The epidural had not worked and the pain of each contraction felt as if it was going to kill me. But my daughter was going to be born, the labour could not be stopped, and the only way out of it, was through it. I experienced the same helplessness when I stopped smoking. There comes a time when tomorrow has to become today and the work has to start.
By the time we pulled into the courtyard of “home”, it was three in the morning, yet I couldn’t go to sleep without first washing off the brown dust that clung to my hair and body. Afterwards I was glad to lie down, albeit on the floor and for the first time in a week, I slept.
When I got up the following morning, Amma was still giving Darshan until the last of the thousands got their hug at eleven forty-five in the morning.
And today is another day.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
The Journey
Lunch was good but too spicy and after a couple of mouthfuls I set it aside. I didn’t want to drink more than one or two mouthfuls of water, this close to departure. We had been told that every four hours during the twelve hour journey we would stop for C & P (Chai & Pee). I would rather be hungry than suffer because of a full bladder.
The nine buses in the courtyard were ready to board. I scrambled for the nearest bathroom but it was just nerves.
“Get on the buses,” Pryan called out, clapping his hands.
I found my bus and climbed on board. Following Amma’s car, we left the Ashram, a convoy of nine buses. The coastal road was lined with the local villagers come to see Amma off on yet another tour.
The realization that I was travelling with one of the greatest spiritual leaders of our time, brought tears to my eyes and it was a few moments before I could swallow again.
From my window seat in the second row of the bus, I concentrated on the world outside and did my best to resist the conversation attempts of the woman sitting next to me. Italian like me, we had bumped into each other at breakfast on my first day at Amritapuri,
“Oh we must sit together on the bus,” she had said. “Tell them when you register for the tour.” But I didn’t; I didn’t want to be tied down to anybody and when I registered I just said that I would like to sit at the front of the bus. Unbeknown to me though, she had requested that we sit together. And we were, at the beginning of this fabled journey, facing my first challenge.
“Eshmeralda,” she would say in her Neapolitan accent. “Open the window, it is hot. Eshmeralda, close the window, it is cold.” This was interspersed with repeated attempts to know all about my life. Whenever I could, I took refuge in my neck pillow. She wasn’t too bad though.
On the other hand, Nova and my family will be happy to know that the two seats across the aisle from me, are occupied by the bus doctors, a nice German couple.
We reached Cochin in just under four hours. It was very dusty and I reached for a dust mask, but took it off as soon as I’d put it on - it made my face too hot.
We stopped at Amma’s school on the outskirts of Cochin for our first C. & P. I found a loo, but I had drunk so little that I almost didn’t need it. When Chai arrived, I only took a small cup but did enjoy the banana fritters that were offered. Within twenty minutes we were on our way for the four hour stretch to the next stop, only at that stop there was dinner instead of Chai. Again, it was delicious but hot, as in spicy, and I had two Luna bars instead. I didn’t want to drink for fear of needing the bathroom long before the next stop – we still had four hours before reaching Talassery, then one hour on to Kannur. The whole day I had drunk less than half a litre of water and the doctor told me to make sure I’d drink the rest of the bottle when we got to our base, and to put electrolytes in the water.
Hot, sweaty and sticky, I climbed on the bus for the third time and settled down for the last stint on the road for the day. Dozing off as soon we drove on, I almost didn’t notice when we pulled into the courtyard of Amma’s school in Talassery. The school’s classrooms were our bedrooms for the next three days, and mine was next to the bathroom. I was the first of the eight women sharing the room to claim my spot on the floor. As a real estate agent in “real life”, my first priority was location, and I chose an area near the door that had two upturned desks that I thought would be very useful as “bedside cabinets”. With the yoga mat and the Thermarest mattress unrolled, I set about trying to fix my mosquito net. Before I knew it, one of the other women had a clothes line running across the room and she used that to fix her mosquito net. I was not close enough to do the same, but she did let me hang my towel on it. In the end I used the upturned desk legs for the top end of the net and draped the other end over my duffle at the foot of my “bed”, which, with the Thermarest, pillow and sleeping bag, looked quite cozy. After a refreshing bucket shower, I called it a night.
Well, there is a saying in Italian, which roughly translated goes like this: Between talking and doing, there is a sea. Lying on the stone floor, albeit with a yoga mat and mattress, was very different from writing about it from the comfort of my home. But I was here now, on a mattress so narrow that it could not quite take me, let alone Bruno, and somehow I had to make myself comfortable enough to sleep.
“Oh Lord,” I prayed. “Help me through this.”
I slept on and off until about six; then I got up and started writing. I’ve since had three cups of Chai with Chappati and Uppama for breakfast, a wheat and vegetable concoction.
In the afternoon we will go to Kannur for the beginning of Amma’s program and if you want to know what Amma’s programs are about, I suggest you rent the film "Darshan". It is a documentary about Amma, or, as she is known in the media, The Hugging Saint.
Well, I'd better go now, my feet are swollen and I need to move about a bit.
Until the next stop (if I’m still alive)!
The nine buses in the courtyard were ready to board. I scrambled for the nearest bathroom but it was just nerves.
“Get on the buses,” Pryan called out, clapping his hands.
I found my bus and climbed on board. Following Amma’s car, we left the Ashram, a convoy of nine buses. The coastal road was lined with the local villagers come to see Amma off on yet another tour.
The realization that I was travelling with one of the greatest spiritual leaders of our time, brought tears to my eyes and it was a few moments before I could swallow again.
From my window seat in the second row of the bus, I concentrated on the world outside and did my best to resist the conversation attempts of the woman sitting next to me. Italian like me, we had bumped into each other at breakfast on my first day at Amritapuri,
“Oh we must sit together on the bus,” she had said. “Tell them when you register for the tour.” But I didn’t; I didn’t want to be tied down to anybody and when I registered I just said that I would like to sit at the front of the bus. Unbeknown to me though, she had requested that we sit together. And we were, at the beginning of this fabled journey, facing my first challenge.
“Eshmeralda,” she would say in her Neapolitan accent. “Open the window, it is hot. Eshmeralda, close the window, it is cold.” This was interspersed with repeated attempts to know all about my life. Whenever I could, I took refuge in my neck pillow. She wasn’t too bad though.
On the other hand, Nova and my family will be happy to know that the two seats across the aisle from me, are occupied by the bus doctors, a nice German couple.
We reached Cochin in just under four hours. It was very dusty and I reached for a dust mask, but took it off as soon as I’d put it on - it made my face too hot.
We stopped at Amma’s school on the outskirts of Cochin for our first C. & P. I found a loo, but I had drunk so little that I almost didn’t need it. When Chai arrived, I only took a small cup but did enjoy the banana fritters that were offered. Within twenty minutes we were on our way for the four hour stretch to the next stop, only at that stop there was dinner instead of Chai. Again, it was delicious but hot, as in spicy, and I had two Luna bars instead. I didn’t want to drink for fear of needing the bathroom long before the next stop – we still had four hours before reaching Talassery, then one hour on to Kannur. The whole day I had drunk less than half a litre of water and the doctor told me to make sure I’d drink the rest of the bottle when we got to our base, and to put electrolytes in the water.
Hot, sweaty and sticky, I climbed on the bus for the third time and settled down for the last stint on the road for the day. Dozing off as soon we drove on, I almost didn’t notice when we pulled into the courtyard of Amma’s school in Talassery. The school’s classrooms were our bedrooms for the next three days, and mine was next to the bathroom. I was the first of the eight women sharing the room to claim my spot on the floor. As a real estate agent in “real life”, my first priority was location, and I chose an area near the door that had two upturned desks that I thought would be very useful as “bedside cabinets”. With the yoga mat and the Thermarest mattress unrolled, I set about trying to fix my mosquito net. Before I knew it, one of the other women had a clothes line running across the room and she used that to fix her mosquito net. I was not close enough to do the same, but she did let me hang my towel on it. In the end I used the upturned desk legs for the top end of the net and draped the other end over my duffle at the foot of my “bed”, which, with the Thermarest, pillow and sleeping bag, looked quite cozy. After a refreshing bucket shower, I called it a night.
Well, there is a saying in Italian, which roughly translated goes like this: Between talking and doing, there is a sea. Lying on the stone floor, albeit with a yoga mat and mattress, was very different from writing about it from the comfort of my home. But I was here now, on a mattress so narrow that it could not quite take me, let alone Bruno, and somehow I had to make myself comfortable enough to sleep.
“Oh Lord,” I prayed. “Help me through this.”
I slept on and off until about six; then I got up and started writing. I’ve since had three cups of Chai with Chappati and Uppama for breakfast, a wheat and vegetable concoction.
In the afternoon we will go to Kannur for the beginning of Amma’s program and if you want to know what Amma’s programs are about, I suggest you rent the film "Darshan". It is a documentary about Amma, or, as she is known in the media, The Hugging Saint.
Well, I'd better go now, my feet are swollen and I need to move about a bit.
Until the next stop (if I’m still alive)!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Email From India
Other than having to sit next to a faulty (stinking) toilet from New York to Dubai, the flight was good. I did think about my bed a few times. I’ve hardly left but I miss it already.
When we touched down in Trivandrum it was three-forty in the morning. I filled out the landing card, made my way to Immigration and was quickly waved through. My driver was waiting outside holding a piece of paper with my name neatly printed on it and I quickly walked over to him.
On the way to the car I stopped at a kiosk and bought a bottle of water. Mohammed (the driver)waited for me; then we walked to the car together. We hadn’t gone far before I realized that Mohammed was up to the job. He knew the width of his car and the width of the road, and even if only by an inch, he avoided the oncoming traffic. He also avoided running over any of the pedestrians that kept cropping up on the side of the road. I was so impressed with his driving abilities that I leant back and let the sound of the windscreen wipers lull me to sleep. Even the occasional dives into foot deep puddles did not completely wake me up.
We made good time and covered the sixty miles to Amritapuri in less than three hours! When we drove through the Ashram gates at six o’clock in the morning, it was still dark. White clad visitors and ashramites alike were coming out of the Temple after morning chanting.
The International office was still closed and so I could not check in but I was assigned a temporary room from the Indian office.
“But you must go and register at ten o’clock,” the young Indian man said, as he handed me a card with the room number. Mohammed helped me with the luggage, then left.
The Ashram was exactly as I remembered it from my first visit in August 2006. And my reaction was the same: What am I doing here? I want my husband, I want my children. And there lies the crux of the matter; I am a wife, a mother and a seeker. I am all three, but right now, without my family, I feel like an orphan.
I’m so glad that Bruno came with me.
By Midday I moved to a more permanent room on the ninth floor with views of the backwaters and from the landing I can see the Arabian Sea a few hundred yards away.
----------
Silvia, my roommate is a sweet girl from Barcelona, Spain. She has been traveling around India by herself for three months. She doesn’t speak much English, but in Spanish she is a philologist.
A pigeon woke me up early this morning. After a while of trying to ignore his wild flapping, I got up to chase it away and found him pooing in the sink and by the look of things, he was suffering from a bad case of Delhi Belly.
“Oh sh…t! Silvia…Silvia,” I called.
“Que, what?” she murmured half asleep.
“There is a pigeon and he’s done a poo in the sink.”
“Ah, la paloma,” she laughed, and after chasing the paloma away, she cleaned the sink. I like Silvia.
----------
I am going to have to buy a smaller suitcase today. The one I have is too big and too heavy with things that I will not need until we get to Calcutta at the end of March. And as I have to carry everything myself, I am told up to four flights of stairs at each of the stops, I am rethinking about what I really need.
----------
While waiting for the shop where I could buy a duffle bag to open, I went to a tea shop just outside the Ashram, where over a cup of Masala Chai I talked to Gill from Switzerland. He is spending six months in India as a volunteer, teaching.
I have another roommate, her name is Mary and she is Irish. Like Silvia she also traveling around India by herself. She arrived this afternoon and she has taken the bed above mine. I know that my son Robert will be jealous to know that I sleep in a bunk bed.
I have to go now and repack my bags. We leave very early the day after tomorrow, but the bedrolls and larger bags are being loaded onto the buses this afternoon.
Our first stop will be Kannur, North Kerala, a twelve-hour bus drive from Amritapuri.
I have to write online and there are people waiting to use the computer after me, so don’t be too surprised if the writing is not very good as I have to be quick.
Ok, that’s it for now. Goodbye from Amritapuri.
Esmeralda
Saturday, February 2, 2008
February 2nd. Departure Day
I am ready now, but what a roller coaster the last few days have been. If you recall from my last posting on Monday (five days ago), I was going to have a haircut, well… while preparing an avocado for lunch I stabbed my left hand instead of the avocado pit. The wound was narrow but deep and my husband rushed me to the Emergency Room.
“When did you say you are going to India?” Dr. Goldberg asked while examining my hand.
“On Saturday,” I sobbed.
“In that case I’ll give you an absorbable stitch.”
He promised it wouldn’t hurt. And it didn’t. After numbing it, Dr. Goldberg stitched my hand and I didn’t feel a thing. I was given a tetanus shot and was sent home with antibiotics and painkillers. Then both Robert (my youngest) and I got the flu, and I spent a few days shivering and aching so much, that I began to wonder how on earth I would be able to fly on Saturday. And of course I never did get around to having that haircut on Monday.
But by Thursday I started to feel better and was able to do a radio interview about the book I am writing and the upcoming journey.
Yesterday I went to Manhattan to buy the Rupees that my husband had reserved for me at the American Express Office on Park Avenue. And a good thing that he had reserved them!
“They’ve been selling like hot cakes,” the girl at the counter told me.
“Really? Why?” I asked.
“I think its because a lot of businesses are moving to India,” she said.
“I see. By the way, what is the exchange rate?” I asked.
“Thirty-six Rupees to the Dollar.”
“What!? It was forty-four to the dollar less than two years ago.”
“It was forty-four last year too,” she said.
I also got some travel checks, and by the time I had finished signing them and went back to thank her before leaving, the girl who had been helping me was sitting at her computer looking at my blog, with two of her colleagues leaning over her shoulders. Wow!
After lunch (no point skimping on meals while I am here), I went back to the hospital for a check up. The doctor was happy with my hand and wished me a safe trip. Finally I was able to go to the hairdresser. My hair is pretty short now, but it is more practical this way.
There have been many heartwarming moments this week, being sick with Robert was one of them. We shivered together, lay in bed together, and were lovingly nursed by my husband who could not do enough for us, and who would not let me do anything in case I hurt my hand again. Thank goodness that I had already cooked and frozen a good supply of meals for them to have while I am away.
Then Robin, my office manager, gave me the most beautiful, organic, hand made journal you’ve ever seen.
“I wanted to give you something that represented who you are,” she said. “And whenever you take it out, you’ll think of me,” she added. I was deeply touched.
And Barbara, also from the office, gave me a neck pillow in the shape of a pair of lips.
“Think of me blowing you a kiss,” she joked.
Then the collapsible bucket arrived. It looks like a heavy-duty plastic bag. The main purpose of a collapsible bucket is for washing clothes, but my children keep saying that I should carry it in my backpack on the bus with me because…
“You might need it, you know… Delhi Belly… you never know,” they are amused by the whole thing.
My friend Karen sent me a money belt from England, insect bite relief ointment and chapstick, how sweet is that? My friend Paolo sent me a check, “I want to give you something for the trip,” he said.
I’ve enjoyed receiving good wish emails from friends and family around the world. Nova confirmed that she has booked a room in Calcutta for March nineteenth for five nights, then added “ Promise that somehow you’ll get word to us if you are sick, or if halfway through the tour you don’t feel you can finish and we’ll get you out.”
Does one call her a friend or a Guardian Angel?
And finally, Andrew surprised me by walking into the family room last night. Hugh told me that he was going out to check the tires; instead he went to collect Andrew from the station. I was so happy to see him and we hugged for a long time. Florentina was the last to come in and she brought me her yoga mat to use with the thermarest mattress.
Soon it will be time to go. Hugh and the children are driving Bruno and me to the airport. When I come back, it will be Spring!
I am still here though, sitting up in my comfortable bed, writing. How I love my bed! I have never slept on a floor; I have never shared a bathroom with anyone other than family and close friends. And for the next seven weeks I will sleep on the floor and share whatever facilities there are with my fellow pilgrims.
I feel sad to be leaving and excited about going. Why am I going? Because my soul is urging me to.
I will write again from India whenever I find an Internet connection, and if I can work out how, I will post pictures. Otherwise I will post them when I get back.
It is time to go now.
Om Namah Sivaya,
Esmeralda
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