Tag Archives: travel

All Creatures Great and Small

Jain nun reading Dharma text



All things bright and beautiful

All creatures great and small

All things wise and wonderful

The good Lord made them all……

-traditional Church hymn

Dressed in thin, gauzy white cotton robes and carrying small cloth bundles on long wooden sticks, a group of women passed me by as I was walking down the street in Udaipur early one morning. A white mask covered their mouths and they were walking barefoot. Who were they, where were they going and what was their story? I was determined to find out.

I learned that they were Sadhvis, Jain nuns, and that they were itinerant pilgrims. Jainism is one of the three ancient Indian religions along with Hinduism and Buddhism, The name comes from the Sansrit word “Jinja”, which means Victory and refers to the destruction of Karma and the stream of rebirth,  or Moksha ,through an ethical and spiritual life.

I had forgotten all about it until Gerald pointed out a beautiful tree growing in the courtyard behind the famous Jain Temple at Ranakpur (between Udaipur and Jodhpur). Three Jain nuns were busily washing their clothes. I saw an opportunity to satisfy my curiosity and approached them cautiously, unsure how they would react. To my surprise they spoke English well and were eager to engage in conversation.

Ranakpur Temple
A Jain monastic preparing food inside the temple
Jain nuns
Jain nuns doing the wash

I am thirty six years old and have been a nun for seven years. I wanted to be a nun since I was thirteen but I could not get parental permission. They forbade me to join and said I had to wait until I was twenty nine. I said I would not marry and they finally allowed me, seeing how strong I was.

I am nineteen and have been a nun for one year. My sister is a nun also. I am very happy in this life.

I have a degree in Accounting and enjoyed a privileged life. My parents were devout Jain. But I knew from a young age that I wanted to be a nun. My parents were against it, and made me wait until I was twenty five.

Jain nuns forsake all emotional attachments and material possessions. There is an elaborate “wedding” ceremony, called Diksha, attended by thousands of Jain devotees, where all attachment to family, love, feelings of anger,hate and greed, are renounced. A new name is taken and she can never touch any family member or any man again.

The “Guruji”, or elder nun and mentor to the younger nuns, sweeping away any possible insects on the floor where she will walk
19 yr. old nun

Having no permanent abode, they wander barefoot, from place to place, always in small groups, depending on the generosity of villagers for their food, and staying in one place no more than a week. This group consisted of nine nuns traveling together, originating from Mumbai. I was told that their next stop was Udaipur, some hundred and twenty miles away, and it would take them seven days to reach there on foot. I was corrected when I asked if the wooden sticks were for walking and was told: “No, they are for protection. We walk at night and there may be animals on the road.”

During monsoon season they remain in a temple and do not travel for four months.

You must speak to our Guruji. She can give you all the information you need about our life, but she is eating now, and no one is allowed to see us eat.

 

Guruji, Jain Nun, 57 yrs. old sweeping her eating bowl

I was shown into the hostel where they were staying and the simple sleeping room consisted of a marble floor with stacks of blankets, several sweeper brooms with cotton tassels, and hand painted wooden eating bowls.

We are non violent and believe every living thing has a soul. We do not eat any foods that grow underground like potatoes,onions and garlic. Why would we want to kill innocent insects and bugs?Our bodies do not need meat, we are pure vegetarians. That is why we wear face masks and sweep the ground we walk on and the bowls we eat from.

The woman in the corner reading the Dharma is the mother of two nuns. She always wanted to become a nun but her family would not allow it. She married, had two girls and a boy. At age thirty her husband agreed for the whole family to dedicate themselves to a monastic life. At the time the daughters were twelve and thirteen and the son was ten.

Each Jain nun hand embroiders her own personal banner which she carries with her
Hand Painted personal eating bowls

It is an arduous life. The Guruji wanted me to know that “we wash our clothes every fifteen days and every seven days we pluck the hairs out of our head by hand.”

Each young woman and nun I spoke to expressed the pure joy they felt in their lives of non-attachment, and the Guruji told me that she receives many requests to lecture in villages and cities on the benefits of living a pure non-violent life.

India has been the birthplace of many of the world’s major religions. We can learn  lessons from the Jain dedication to preserving and respecting the environment as well as the sanctity of all living creations.

Come Away With Me

 

The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it.-Rudyard Kipling

Take me away to a strange and foreign land and leave me be

Let me lay my head down upon the sand

We’re reaching out for something special our minds may never know

It’s the kind of place we dream of and then let go- Anonymous

Palaces, two century old Havelis, turbaned peddlers selling turnips,old women piling rocks on mules to transport who knows where, masala chai, samosas sizzling in a giant iron pot., and my favorite deity, Bheruji. This is My Udaipur.

After the hustle and bustle of traveling in Indian cities, arriving in Udaipur is a most welcome respite. Clean air, roof top restaurants, parrots nesting in scalloped recesses of restored buildings once the residences of the royal family.

If a picture is indeed worth a thousand words, come along with me as I walk through the streets of Udaipur.

First stop Gangaur Ghat- a holy place by the lake where locals feed pigeons in the early morning to insure good Karma.

Shiva Shrine

Shopkeepers are starting to open their stores. This one specializes in brass and copper kitchenwares. I bought several from him in years past.

 

Water seller

The woman in the pink sari in the doorway on the right is waiting patiently for customers.

Jewelry Merchant

The head of the household looks none too happy about the money he is about to spend on jewelry for a forthcoming marriage, but the ladies are thrilled.

Village women working as day laborers transporting rocks with mules

Our feet are weary and we’re thirsty. A stop for chai at our friends Prem and Kesar. After one hour of playing with the grandchildren and eating too many biscuits, we are ready to move on.

Prem and Kesar, our long time friends

Post funeral rituals by the ghats

I hear drums and see a long procession of women coming down the street. We change directions and follow them as we head to the ghats. They are celebrating the life of an elder in the village who died twelve days ago.

Turnip Seller selling his wares

Udai Koti Palace Hotel

Over the bridge to the other side of the lake for lunch at a former royal palace,Lake Pichola Hotel, passing magical palaces of a bygone era on the way.

Dining room of Lake Pichola Hotel

Lake Pichola Hotel

Time to go back to our lovely old haveli hotel, and pay my respects at one of the many shrines in town dedicated to Bheruji- a local deity favored by rural women.

Bheruji

Sitting on the rooftop terrace all the troubles of the world seem very far away.

All in the Family

Shaikh and Shamim

The Mukaram family

Rusda, Me, Tayba and Shamim

Yes, do buy a gown for the marriage, it’ll be so much fun! We’ll go shopping together.

Don’t buy a gown, you’ll only want it for one day, yes? I can bring you some to try on and see what you like.

You’ll be needing help with getting ready for the wedding, ma’am?

I can lend you jewelry and shoes if you like, ma’am. No worries.

Since arriving in India we have been “adopted” by numerous people and treated like members of the family. We are often asked, with a look of surprise, why we have not brought our children and their spouses with us. “Next time,” we reply sheepishly. Indians tend to travel in large family groups of eight or more, except when they go on a honeymoon. Grandparents on both sides as well as aunties,cousins and children go on vacation together. Two lone travelers are an unusual sight.

We were thrilled when our friend Shaikh Mukaram invited us to his niece’s marriage and that we would be part of the wedding party. Although we have attended many Hindu weddings, this would be our first Muslim one.

She is very poor, my sister, but there will be over 1500 people at the wedding.

Shaikh’s father has eleven brothers and three sisters and his mother has seven brothers and six sisters. He has one brother and four sisters and his wife has three brothers and three sisters. Ubed, his son, estimated that he has three hundred cousins!

Nilam, one of the teachers at Manav Gulzar Community Center,offered to find a dress for me to borrow.

I have so many sarees but no gowns, I don’t know if you’ll like what I have.

Nilam

After teaching the workshops with the children I am usually exhausted so the thought of going to shop for a dress, no matter how much fun it might be, seemed overwhelming. I said that I was sure anything she had for me would be fine.

You need jewelry too, right?

The next day a big bag with three beautiful gowns and masses of costume jewelry arrived.

How to decide? Ask my friends on Facebook of course and have a vote! With opinions pouring in from India, Cambodia,Italy, France, Germany, England and the USA, the festivities started off with a bang.

The red is more striking

Quello in alto a destra,oro (Italy)

No need to choose,because you always beautiful (Cambodia)

Even pink is gorgeous…but I would suggest U go in Red it has a festive look in my opinion Best for the occasion. (India)

When the tally came in with more than one hundred and fifty votes counted, Red was the surefire winner. I felt like a princess with all the gold and sequins and glitter. Rusda, one of Shaikh’s daughters, agreed to come shopping with me for shoes and go together for the Heena hand painting the day before the wedding.

When Dhairya, one of the front desk managers at my hotel found out that I had no shoes she quickly piped in. I have some shoes I can lend you. No worries. My Mummy and me have some pairs that we share for weddings. I’ll bring them by and you can see if they fit. “

Things were coming together quickly and it was the Friday before the wedding.

gown-check

earrings and bangles- check

gold sandal heels- check

Now it was time for the Heena.

Name and place where I will meet you tomorrow Rusda?

General hardas ngav nav lakhaa malek shaban ki dargah

Huh? Even with the Google map pinpoint I could tell it was complicated and I’d never find it.

I think maybe I won’t come. I’m afraid of getting lost.

Yaa it’s too far From your hotel.

I had resigned myself to not getting my hands painted and was commiserating with Jagat who runs the Earn and Learn program at Manav Sadhna.

Don’t worry. Nita can do it for you. I just have to send Kasturbhai to the market to get some Heena. Wait here.

I waited for forty five minutes until he returned from the market, as the first market had no more Heena. It is wedding season and there is a big rush for the Heena coloring. It is a tradition for women friends and family members to get their hands painted . Nita is an artist and in twenty minutes she had finished two beautiful traditional designs on both my hands while Jagat sang songs extolling the love between Gerald and I. Don’t ask me why he decided to do this, but he was enjoying himself so much I didn’t ask.

Before

After

Jagat Bhai

Saturday arrived and Dhairya arranged her schedule to free up some time to help me get ready. She insisted on calling me ma’am and although it bothered me at first, like most things in India, I got used to it.

Ma’am you must wear the diamond earrings, more Indian, others too Western. And yes, the diamond jewels draped on your forehead.

I left everything for her to decide and reveled in the pampering-make-up, jewelry, perfumes, the works.Gerald didn’t have anything special to wear, especially on his feet, but he had a Kurta. No chance of borrowing anything his size from anyone here in India.

When I made my grand entrance in the lobby of the hotel, you would think a movie star had arrived. The Indians gave their thumbs up approval and insisted on taking endless selfies with me.

Since we had no idea what a Muslim wedding would be like, but had been told that it was a more restrained affair-without the exuberant music and dancing of the Hindus, we had no expectations.

The evening started off by going to the home of the bride’s mother to watch the last minute make-up preparation. It was in a poor section of town where in 2002 Hindu Nationalist riots were responsible for the burning of many homes in the Muslim quarter. Shaikh’s sister’s home was among those that were destroyed. The Indian government did nothing to quell the riots and did not pay to rebuild. It was the Muslim community that helped her.

A type of canopy had been set up in the small courtyard of the quarter, and many neighbors were milling around as well as young cousins who were already dressed for the wedding. The housing quarters were tiny, barely enough room for three women to dress the bride. We stayed outside near the mosque.

Cousins

We then piled into Shaikhs car, leaving Rusda and her mother to come with the relatives. “It wouldn’t be nice if we didn’t stay with the family and go together with them. We will see you there.”

The earthen courtyard outside the mosque was dimly lit when we arrived, and it certainly did not look like a wedding venue. There was a stage set up with a throne, set against a blue and white striped curtain as back drop. The groom’s family (only about thirty five male members) sat below, looking glum and not talking to one another.We clabbered over the uneven dirt path with me holding my gown by the hem, trying not to trip over my heels while we crossed the courtyard into the bride’s section.

SPLAT! All of a sudden I felt the sole of one shoe detach from the heel. I limped awkwardly while lifting my gown off the ground in the futile hope of keeping it clean.

Shaikh’s brother to the rescue! When hearing of my dilemma he quickly appeared holding a tube of heavy duty glue. It just so happens he owns a clothing and shoe shop and was prepared for such emergencies.

The bride’s section was a dazzling display of kitsch and bling, with women wearing earrings that looked like metal chandeliers , or sculptures that you might see hanging decoratively on a wall.

The bride arrived in a car, veil covering her face,and was immediately escorted by Rusda onto the stage where she remained for the next two hours. We were ushered onstage to sit next to her and have our photos taken, along with other relatives. At one point she started crying and her auntie leaned over and spoke soothing words and gave her a hankie. In India, after marriage the bride goes to live with the husband’s family and does not return to her family. It is a very emotional moment.

The groom arrived and took his place, far away from the bride.

Food was served on large platters to be shared communally- rice, dal and a mutton curry.

There was no Imam (priest). Shaikh’s brother brought the marriage contract onstage first to the bride and then to the groom, still seated in different parts of the courtyard. The “ceremony” was now complete. The couple, officially married,would see each other for the first time only well after midnight at the groom’s house,when a mirror would be placed between them and the veil removed.

The wedding, rather than an elaborate celebration was more a large family reunion. As Westerners it is difficult for us to fully comprehend the complicated role that family plays in Indian society. It encompasses a strong sense of duty, devotion to tradition, and is an enormous source of happiness.

The New Faces of India

I decided to ask random questions of young Indians that I met in order to gain more insight into their thoughts about how they saw their lives and future.  Although I usually am more concerned with women’s lives and their challenges, this time I focused more on men. In no particular order this is what they had to say.

Shailin, 34 years old

We met Shailin six years ago when we first stayed at The Metropole Hotel in Ahmedabad. He was working at the front desk and was unmarried. He is now married with two children and is an assistant manager.

What would you wish for to come true in the next five years?

For my whole family to be united. You see I have two children now and they are growing up without their cousins. My two brothers live in the US- Connecticut and Georgia, and we don’t get to see each other very often. That is my greatest wish. Getting money is something everyone will strive for and of course it’s necessary but I don’t care so much about that. It’s my family that’s most important.

Shirish, 40 years old

Shirish was born in Mumbai and adopted as a three month old by a Belgian couple. He was a successful hip hop dancer and choreographer in Europe and gave that up to move to Ahmedabad to devote his life to teaching dance to the children at Manav Sadhna.

What brings you the greatest joy in your life?

Working with children, and seeing them grow and evolve.

Hardik,35 years old

Hardik was a guest at a Hindu wedding we attended recently. He is married and has a good job at The Bank of India. His wife also works in finance.

What is most important to you in your life?

Ashkardam Temple and my faith. I love the temple it is so beautiful. Have you visited it?

It is a sect of Hinduism dedicated to Swaminarayan, a yogi who died in 1830. The Delhi temple, believed to be his divine abode, is in the Guinness Book of Records as the largest Hindu Temple in the World.

Fabane,22 years old

On my flight from Kerala to Chennai, Fabane was my seatmate and we struck up a conversation. I asked him if he was a singer or musician because he was wearing earbuds and was listening to music intently while singing aloud joyously. With his good looks and winning smile I thought maybe he was a famous musician. He told me he was a professional cricketer and was on his way to a match. I don’t remember how it began, but we started talking about religion. He is Muslim.

D: Are you religious?

Fabane: Yes. I pray five times a day.

D: What do you like most about your religion?

His eyes lit up and he grinned.

Fabane: I love Allah.

Architecture Students

These young women were staying at our hotel and were a diverse group of Hindu and Muslim students, both conservative and contemporary.

Will you all have arranged marriages?

(With lots of giggles and blushing) Yes.

Do you think your husbands will permit you to work after marriage?

(Enthusiastic response) Yes.

What about after having children?

Blank stares and no response.

I have been casually doing interviews with Indians that I have met over many years,on buses, trains,on the street, and I am struck by how open and willing they are to share their culture and deepest personal thoughts with me.

The Last Theyyam in Kannur

The alarm goes off at three in the morning and I jump up quickly and quietly so I don’t wake up Gerald. He insists it is not early morning but the middle of the night, and has decided to forgo this last Theyyam ceremony before we leave Kannur.

Vineeth, my trusted rickshaw driver and guide is already waiting for me outside. I put my pink cloth carry bag on the seat and off we go.

What’s in my bag? A banana and some biscuits, my camera and telephoto lens, iPhone, and last but certainly not least, a handy water spray bottle which brings down my body temperature quickly when the steamy tropical heat threatens to break my resolve to remain any longer.

The temple I am going to today is only 17km away but it not a paved road so I have no idea how long the journey will take. I ask myself if I should try to sleep on the way and I lie down in a fetal position on the plastic padded bench seat in the rickshaw.That idea is quickly abandoned after the first few bumps.

Forty minutes later we arrive and Golikan, the first deity, is making his appearance. The priest motions for me to wait until the blessings for putting on the mask are finished before I take any photos.I have seen this deity at other temples but this performer is more engaged and active than the others, walking on stilts and leaping around the courtyard wildly.

This temple is an older one dedicated to Shiva, and there are small shrines with offerings of rice and coconut.

Quite a crowd has gathered by now and there is an informal men’s and women’s section for seating.

Beautiful traditional Keralan white silk saris banded with gold are worn by the older women, who have brass oil lamps which will be lit and blessed by the spectacular fire dancer deity who will be performing later.

After the first three Theyyam have finished their performance there is a break. Seated on small thrones in the courtyard the Theyyam bless the villagers as they line up. Meanwhile, a loud speaker is advertising services by companies who have sponsored this ceremony. and like all things in India, is at high volume.

An aura of anticipation and excitement is in the air as we await the entrance of Agni Kandakarnan, the son of Shiva.

I am seated directly in front of the temple so that I have a prime view of the entrance of each deity. Agni Kandakarnan arrives and the temple attendants place the eight poles, each with a torch at either end, around his young coconut leaf skirt. When they are lit there is an audible hush and then a gasp.

Each time Theyyam is performed, even if it is the same character, there is a sense of unpredictability. On this particular occasion it is both terrifying and playful. As the fiery Theyyam spins around, spreading balls of flames on the ground he is yelling angrily, running through the stands, stopping now and then to bless a man, woman or child. Then just as suddenly he leaps up to where a gaggle of young men are seated and grabs someone’s cell phone.

He runs around gleefully and mischievously displaying his prize, until he finally gives it to one of the drummers. The owner of the phone runs hurriedly to retrieve it.

By now the sun is rising and Vineeth has to bring his daughter to school and signals to me that it’s time to leave.

I arrive back at the guesthouse exhausted, exhilarated and unable to speak.

I will be forever grateful to my dear husband Gerald, who introduced me to India sixteen years ago. I could have never imagined what a profound impact it would make in my life.

Off We Go

I know. It’s a free flight and I’m going to Japan on vacation for three weeks.  How can I whine about anything? It’s in my nature,my ethnic background and almost a given, even for an ex-New Yorker to kvetch just a little bit.

First, the good stuff.  Korean Air is fabulous.  Never having flown them before, I was of course dubious. Seats were roomy, even G had legroom and we were only in Economy. “Bibimbap or Chicken with Lice” the flight attendant, dressed in a light turquoise satin blouse and white polyester pencil skirt, asked sweetly.  A starched thin white bow jutted out from her perfectly coiffed and sprayed hair. I wondered to myself if the points on the bow might be used as a weapon in case of terrorists or unruly guests. But I digress.

Both the row in front of us and the row in back of us had miniature choir members-those tiny little creatures that are a source of delight to grandparents, but a horror to airline passengers-BABIES. Trying hard not to be negative I gave them the benefit of the doubt, but after a half an hour into the 13 hour flight the recital commenced. When the screeching first started I thought it was a cat in a carrier. But then it was joined by crying from a second source close by. As if a signal for the musical theater piece to begin, the little girl in back of me started to run around squealing and pulling my hair surreptitiously. Within an instant the flight attendants came around handing out earplugs and trying to mollify the little ones. I will admit there was a unison in the voices as if carefully orchestrated,when the fourth little one chimed in. Defeated, I looked at the choice of movies, and was delighted to see all the Oscar nominated ones available. After watching four that I had missed in the theaters, I was mollified sufficiently to calm down.

Arriving at the Intercontinental Hotel in Osaka

we were informed that they upgraded us to a suite for my birthday. Easily as big as my house, it is on the top floor (32nd) has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, an office, Living Room, full kitchen, Laundry Room and a terrace the full length of the suite. I’m going to the onsen later.

Life is good in the Golden Zone.

Behind the Curtain/India Exposed

You won’t be able to take photos or watch the make up preparation, but to see the Theyyam Bagavathi Muttilotu is an experience not to be missed. She is one of the most powerful goddesses and the performer cannot eat meat, drink alcohol or have sex for forty one days beforehand. She stays behind a curtain and doesn’t come out until ready to receive the headdress. For some people it is scary because she can be unpredictable and start yelling and gesturing aggressively.

Kurian, my Theyyam authority, and owner of Costa Malabari Guest House in Kannur, explained this to me in an earnest tone. I have been coming here ever since I was first exposed to Theyyam in 2014.

Theyyam is an ancient ritual practiced in the Malabar region of southern India and is performed exclusively by men who manifest the deities and goddesses while in a trance-like state. The ritual started out as a practice of the lower castes and later became absorbed into Hindu culture as a way of communicating directly with deities.

Malabar village shrines are dedicated to a particular deity and an annual ritual or festival is sponsored either by a family or the priests, and is open to the greater community at large.Theyyam season is between November and May. The more powerful Theyyam deities can attract thousands of worshippers to the ceremonies.

At nine in the morning we started out for the first village. It was later than usual because the ceremonies, which usually start at sunrise, had been going on all night. Plastic tarps were set up as booths , carnival style, to sell the various trinkets- plastic toys, balloons,bangles and other assorted useful objects which the attendees would inevitably buy. Bollywood music, interspersed with adverts for travel agencies, hair growth clinics and “fancy dress” shops, bellowed out of two loudspeakers positioned just outside the kavu ( sacred area around the shrine). It was early and we were among the first to arrive. I always like to have time for the villagers to become comfortable with our presence.

My flip flops, already muddied with the moist red dirt, and traces of the many people who had trampled over them, were placed outside the entrance to the shrine, and I hoped I would be able to find them again after the crowds stormed through. I attempted (vainly) to sparkle as much as the Rajasthani women and wore my best gold dangly earrings, bangles and mangal sutra ( Rajasthani marriage necklace).

Gerald and Richard had set their backpacks on the red plastic chairs in the front row to save the best seats. It wasn’t until later, when an old lady snarled at him did he realize they were in the women’s section, and had to move.

I immediately rushed over to the costume/make up preparation area. Each one of the eight deities that would be represented has a unique costume and intricate face painting design which can take hours to complete. After four hours in the tropical heat,watching the six drummers feverishly lead the deities into trance, and the mesmerizing dancing of the Theyyam, I was exhausted. We had seen four deities and there were four more getting ready. As the sun baked into my skin, even with the sensory overload of these rituals I knew that I absolutely had to go to the next village where Bhagavati would be the grand finale.

As we arrived at the next shrine- a much bigger venue with hundreds of people already milling about in the temple grounds, the anticipation was palpable. As in the other village we were the only non-Indians and were given a place of honor so that we could to see better.

An old man with bloodshot eyes- probably from too much toddy-approached me.

Bagavathi is a powerful goddess, coming soon. She will make you cry, I do.

I was anxious for the finale after waiting almost two hours .We had rushed to get there by 2 pm and my eyes were glued to the curtain covering the place where Bagavathi was preparing, waiting to see some movement that would indicate an appearance. The only food I had eaten was a packaged ice cream bought from a vendor. Although we were invited to share the feast that was prepared for the masses at each shrine, I had politely refrained from eating and drinking, knowing that the toilet facilities would be suspect. But there was no way that I would even think of leaving before seeing what I had come for.

A bonfire had been smoldering for hours. Suddenly the temple priests and attendants started running over the hot coals and encircling the shrine. A swell of women and men charged across the temple grounds to the corner where Bagavathi was ready to receive her headdress. I didn’t know whether I should join them or stay put in my prime viewing position. The women next to me kept on squeezing me in in order to make room for a badly misshapen young man, lying on a mat behind me. They pointed to a woman standing nearby who I assumed was his mother, and she motioned that she wanted him to be blessed when Bagavahti passed by. I knew if I left there would be no returning.

Fearful that if I stayed I might miss the action, I ran over, just in time to see Bagavathi, in brilliant red headdress and huge skirt,flaming torches in both hands. Worshippers were pushing and shoving to get close enough to pass their arms through the flames, a sign of receiving her blessings.

And then just like that it was all over.

The car was quiet on the way back to our guesthouse. A small window had been opened , exposing one of the many sides of Incredible India.

As Time Goes By/Returm to Goa

“BANG! BOOM! BANG BOOM!” I awake before dawn ,startled by the thumping of monkeys jumping on the roof of our house. The palm trees, laden with coconuts, are swaying wildly, as an extended family of monkeys jumps from branch to branch and then lands soundly on our roof. Why should I be surprised? We are, after all, in India.

It has been two years since our last visit to Goa and arriving here feels familiar and comforting. Our “Lifestyle Resort” has not changed much-overgrown plants and weeds still sprout up through the cracks of the staircase leading up to our small but homey room. There has been some updating- freshly painted neon orange walls, and new linoleum floors-attractive but slippery when wet. The black plastic toilet seat is still the same relic from another era,

Francis, our favorite chef/friend has taken away the only decision we needed to make,-choosing what to eat for dinner- by surprising us each night with some new Goan creation that he wants us to try. I know I’m slightly obsessed with food, but Goan food is so good. The curries-ambotik, cafreal, ,xiacuti, sukha- redolent with pungent spices and coconut are too delectable to resist. And why should I?

Younger faces with more tattoos, now stroll on the beach doing yoga,jogging, and laughing with that carefree air of those who have no responsibilities.I don’t remember seeing so many tanned, lithe bodies doing exercises or taking selfies with “GOA” written in the sand. It’s in stark contrast to the orange-vested Indian garbage cleaners with their brightly colored green plastic bags chattering animatedly with each other. Note to self ” Stop thinking about what you’re going to eat next and start doing your Qi Gong.”

What apparently has changed, is me. The first time I was greeted with “Nice to see you again Mama“,I laughed and shrugged it off . By the second time I began to feel annoyed.  After the third greeting I was downright despondent. I always enjoyed being called “Didi”, which means sister in Hindi. On the last visit, I had graduated to “Auntie“which is an endearing term for a slightly older relative, and that too was sweet.  Unlike the sexy connotation in Latin culture, “Mama” here is used for grandmothers!

I guess it’s time for massage, threading and whatever beauty treatments I can manage to elevate my status.

“I’ll Never Do It Again” Redux

Some people say that the letters I N D I A mean “I’LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN”, and yet here I am,ready to embark on my fifth (or is it sixth?) journey to that fascinating and infuriating land of enchantment. I must admit that after each one of my first three sojourns I returned with that same sentiment. While I’m there, days pass when I want to tear my hair out, or just find a nice, quiet place to chill. And then something happens…..a colorful procession replete with music and ritual, a delicious meal,-fragrant with pungent spices, or maybe just an invitation to visit someone’s home.

This last trip I was fortunate to enter the mysterious world of Theyyam in northern Kerala. I was “seized by the gods” in their full glory of painted bodies and faces,as they immersed themselves in the spirit of a  god, dancing and moving as one possessed. It was this mesmerizing experience,which takes place at sunrise and sunset during the months of December- February that draws me back. As soon as we returned from our last trip in December 2015 I was planning the next.

Pullurkali

Pullurkali

Yes, we will also be volunteering to work on an art project with scavenger children at Manav Sadhna, Gandhi’s ashram. How that will turn out, I know not.

We are also planning to go up to the mountains at Nainital and see tigers at Corbett National Park. How that will turn out, I know not.

Many friends are as anxious for our return as we are to rekindle their friendship. Gerald is excited about teaching more collage workshops at the Universities in Ahmadabad and Udaipur. How that will turn out,I know not.

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Shalena and her sister- my delightful Hairdresser in Udaipur

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Raji- the Puppetmaster of Udaipur

Francis at work

Francis- our master chef in Goa, at work

What I do know it that we are embarking on another adventure, and that is good.

Namaste