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.
After being introduced to my spacious room, I am treated to a light vegetarian lunch of rice and legumes, accompanied by a cup of delicious milk tea. The meal is served on a banana leaf devoid of utensils: the right hand becoming the fork. I am offered a spoon as a substitute, but I refuse: I aspire to look worldly and sophisticated (think chopsticks). However, this initially poses a psychological challenge. In my 60 years of life, I have rarely eaten with my hands: this ritual has joined my “deference to women” as something virtually innate. Regardless, I follow our host and enjoy my meal by scooping the food into my hand or onto a piece of papadum: (4) delicious! There is a small basin behind an adjacent screen for washing your hands: neatly done. Then a walk is proposed. I eagerly look forward to seeing some of these 1.25 billion people. I quickly realize that they are not in this area, obviously. This is farming country: the fields are wide and inviting. The earth has a unique red-brown color. It looks incredibly fecund. It becomes obvious how the population has grown. The pater of our home-stay family is a semi-retired civil servant, a lawyer by training. His wife is a school teacher. They have built a school for indigent children in the vicinity of their residence: nice people. Quickly it is evening and a bright new day. Yet another walk, this time accompanied by a stiff breeze and a smattering of rain, and my stay is over. The taxi arrives just after breakfast at 9:00. Now, in most societies the chauffeur will retrieve your luggage and then attentively sit in the car waiting for you, not here. An odd ceremony is played out. The cabbie is invited in for what appears to be a dynamic chat about life. It is as if “he” is querying whether it is safe to take this foreigner into his vehicle. I remind myself that there are not a lot of strangers in this region: this is not tourist country. After the necessary guarantees are obviously given, we are off to the ashram.
My perception of India has already been so altered that I do not know what to expect. After the requisite mind-numbing drive, we enter a quiet forest area and proceed along what could best be described as a country lane. After a leisurely 10 minutes drive, we are in front of a rather large metal gate with two uniformed security guards: we have arrived. I proffer my name and passport: “rather overdone for two shacks and a tent,” I think to myself. The portal opens and we continue on a beautifully cobbled road, divided in two for entering and exiting vehicles. The complex unfolds: it is huge. I am deposited in front of a group of buildings all designed to nestle into Mother Earth. I remember Nordic design being similar: clean lines, subdued colors, functional and pristine. I am truly shocked. My reservation is confirmed and I am given a badge: “Don’t lose it: it must be worn at all times.” Around me swirl hundreds, if not thousands, of people: monks, pilgrims, tourists and people like me: the seekers. An electric taxi arrives and takes me to my residence, at some distance from the registration area. I am to share a room with another man, with a BA in yoga studies it turns out. He is thoughtful and erudite – an added benefit to my stay. I spend the following four days in intense yoga study: we learn the techniques that we can take away and incorporate into our lives.
I am in the Isha Yoga Centre in Coimbatore. This non-religious organization has upwards of five to ten million helpers. It is truly an amazing place. Additionally, there are several schools on the grounds. We have a tour of the facilities. I feel that there is something to be learned from this organization: I will return. Quite abruptly, our stay is over and we are off to new environs. To be continued … Father William of Ockam (1287-1347) leaves us with a thought: With all things being equal, the simplest explanation tends to be the right one.
A closing thought: I do not believe that mankind is violent and selfish. I say this because my personal encounters have been nothing but positive: I have never been shot, stabbed or blown up. I have met mostly kind, loving individuals. I think that I am not unique. I am the same as most everyone. It is time that our voices are heard. We must reject violence as a normal part of the human experience. It is time to think critically.
A small joke: After I finished a call with my 90-year-old mother, I sighed and then said to my 96-year-old friend, “She’s so stubborn.” He shook his head sympathetically and warned, “You’re going to have trouble with her when she gets old.”
This week, please ponder how you see the world: remember you see it only through your own eyes.
Every day look for something magical and beautiful
Quote: The morning always reminds us that each day is special and unique, it will never come again. It is my task to make this a reality.
Footnotes:
1) Star Trek – The Progress of Warp Speed
2) Ali Baba