The day of my departure from the security of the temple complex has arrived. I am now aware of the fact that India never fails to impress dramatically and punctuate all with a tinge of the exotic: the otherworldly. My taxi driver arrives at the obscene hour of 4:15, as in the morning – not even God is awake, just the soft pulsating of nocturnal creatures, crickets and the like. The driver is naturally obeisant and gracious. At the gate, I receive my first complication of the day. Now appreciate that this is 4:30 in the morning and my mood is not yet, that should read good mood is not yet, fully engaged. “Where is your badge?” “My what …?” “You cannot leave here unless you surrender your conference ID!” This is not some state-of-the-art device, but a piece of laminated paper. Upon reflection, I realize that the aggressive openings of my suitcases and obscene utterances in Polish assist the guard in his resignation. “That document is actually not necessary. Thank you.” We are off! As the path falls away into the highway, I take the opportunity to reflect on the past few days. When we first arrived, the day before the course began, we were marshaled together and told class begins in the morning at 6:00 sharp, coupled with the admonition, “Don’t be late: be early. Two chances and you will be asked to leave.” “Wow!” This does not fit into my concept of easy-going yoga. By the end of the program, however, I realize these adherents have dedicated their lives to a particular interpretation of reality. They have no patience for triflers.
As I enter their home, I notice a slight wobbliness in my legs, undoubtedly the body’s expression of relief at not being propelled at warp speed. (1) The house comprises two stories. The first containing the principal rooms and areas: the entrance foyer, the study, the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, etc. The second holds the bedrooms and bathrooms. The walls are troweled concrete painted in a light pastel shade of off-white. They weave seamlessly into the intricately-designed tiled floor. This adds a feeling of lightness reminiscent of Ali Baba and the Arabian Nights: I look for flying carpets, though none are to be found. (2) I remind myself that, though this is a Hindu home, the pervasive influence of Islam, through the Mogul dynasty, (3) is not that distant a memory. It shows itself in the interior design, copied from the delicate styling seen in the Taj Mahal, for example. I congratulate myself on my recent acquisition of a smattering of Indian history. Sadly, a little knowledge is dangerous and almost useless in a land as enigmatic and perplexing as India.
I arrive to a sun-filled afternoon in Taipei. This seems to contrast with the feeling of moisture, as in feeling like a wet, browbeaten dog. Pushing that thought aside (recent yoga training), I take a bus and then an even longer high-speed train back to my home in Taichung. Along the way, I begin to have more and more empathy for the peasant farmers who used to stand beside me in the tramway in Krakow some forty years before. All unwashed bodies smell the same, I remark: pungent, but honest. Yes, I am an honest man: this madness at the Indian border was not my fault – the doubt remains, however. Life is, ultimately, always your fault. I trundle my luggage up to my apartment and begin to unpack. Gosh I have generated a lot of laundry in just two-and-a-half days! At his death, Gandhi owned less than ten possessions, (1) I obviously have a lot to learn!
As with any great adventure, you must begin with a misadventure, a curse: I missed the plane – at least I am going to miss the plane, probably. I trust that I can get a connecting flight from Taipei to Shanghai. We will subsequently see. Like an alluring mistress, Delhi attracts, but will not easily reveal her charms.
Please consider this a brief history of my grandparents, why they came to Canada and my motivation for seeking Polish citizenship. Both of my maternal grandparents were born in the environs of Drohobych, which is now part of Ukraine. In the late 14th century, the town was situated in the precursor of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth (1): it was Polish. It had access to good land and ample water thus developing into a wealthy farming community. The city had a change of suzerainty in 1772 and was ceded to Austria during the First Partition of Poland. This had little impact on the lives of the serfs, notwithstanding: they continued to live and work on large agricultural estates, mostly in poverty and in squalor. In 1848 revolution swept over Europe. The Austro-Hungarian monarchy was saved in this rebellion by emancipating the serfs: powerless, but now free. My maternal great-great grandfather was one of those freed serfs. Though they continued to eke out a living on a large estate, life was different: they had a mental concept of liberty. His father filled my grandfather with the twin concepts of land and freedom. To be truly a “man,” you had to have freehold title to a portion of God’s good earth. Unfortunately, this region of the world, at this particular time in history, had one of the highest population densities in the world: this, therefore, precluded land ownership. The prices were just inaccessible to the farming class: leasing land was the “best” you could hope for: not good enough! My grandfather was born in 1875. He grew into a strapping, good-looking man: hardworking and industrious. He, inevitably, wanted more out of life for his children and family: he desired his own “piece of paradise.”
