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.
The train station looms into view. It is everything that an Indian train station is supposed to be: an enigma wrapped in a riddle, to paraphrase Churchill. My immediate task is to find my train — any train. I ask for my route at the information booth. Amazingly, there is no riddle. I am told where it is and when it will depart. Where is the chaos that most travelers tell me about? Perhaps it doesn’t exist and is but a marketing ploy to keep the unwashed and uninitiated subservient and, of course, paying exorbitant guided-tour prices: hmm. I buy a bottle of water and stand on the designated platform. My carriage arrives and I get in – the Coimbatore-Chennai-Madurai Express. I have opted for a second-class wagon lit, upper berth. (1) Don’t get an upper berth, the lower berth allows you to store your valises under the bed, not the upper. I am sequestered for the next eight hours with my luggage and me in a cozy embrace. I thank my size for a comfortable and, even, agreeable fit. The flatness of the landscape continues: not particularly affluent, but not poor – livable. I order a sugar-ladened milk tea: delicious. I delve into my book. Then nature calls. “Do I chance this?” I ask myself. I am decidedly sensitive about cleanliness, especially with restrooms, and on trains …? I open the door, all stainless steel – old but clean. I enter and lock the door. In a brief minute I go to exit, but the door will not budge: it will not open. My second complication: I note that the train only stops for three minutes in Chennai. It is not its terminus, which is many hundreds of kilometers further: India is a big country. I choose the most rational approach. I am strong, I will burst the lock! This I undertake with enthusiasm. It is about to give way after my fourth attempt, when the conductor opens the door. I am in full-flight mode and almost knock him out the carriage door onto the tracks below. Wouldn’t that be fun? Sufficiently chaste, I return to my berth.
We arrive in Chennai without additional fanfare. I am met at the station by an affable taxi driver who takes me on a tour of the city: its sights, its beaches (2) and the like. One of my noteworthy adventures in this southern city is that we run out of gas: say what? Yes, it is true — we run out of this automotive elixir. Normally, I relegate this phenomenon to the ranks of the inattentive and the stupid: but no, not in this case. The driver has made a simple error in calculation, I am told, and we are but 100 meters short of a station. One of the great neuroses of going to an expensive gym is that you search out opportunities to prove to yourself how well you have invested your money. I am Hercules (3) and, singlehandedly, I am going push the car to the petrol pump. I instruct the chauffeur to sit and simply steer: such bravado! I am relieved from my foolishness and possible failure – though you never know – by a phalanx of truck drivers who assist in the task. The day slowly descends into evening and we proceed to the airport. Airports in India, I find, are filled to overflowing with security guards, police, soldiers, etc. Each force has its own ethos and mannerisms. The soldiers have the biggest guns and are the most peaceful and relaxed. Whereas the security guards have no weapons and are the most uptight. Whatever your experience relative to this form of bureaucracy, just attribute it to globalization and too many Rambo films. (4) As some of my students are apt to say, “Just toss it off and let it go.” I board my plane to Kolkata. To be continued …. Swami Vivekananda (1863-1902) leaves us with a thought: We are what our thoughts have made us; so take care about what you think. Words are secondary. Thoughts live; they travel far. You have to grow from the inside out. None can teach you, none can make you spiritual. There is no other teacher but your own soul. The world is the great gymnasium where we come to make ourselves strong
A closing thought: I read this great quote the other day: Life is a conspiracy between you and yourself, meaning that I had best get to work and develop the person I know the best: me. It inevitably comes to this. If I choose a fantastic and interesting life, I can have it: if not – simple — I can’t. From The Confessions of Saint Augustine (5): I am, I know and I will — I am a knowing and a willing being.
A small joke: When I was young, I was rushed to the hospital after a tumble. An attendant put a band on my arm that said, “Fall Risk.” My mother looked at the nurse and said, quite facetiously, he is also a winter, spring and summer risk, as well.
This week, please reflect on your vision of you. Who is the most beautiful person that you know? Yourself!
Every day look for something magical and beautiful.
Quote: Tomorrow morning, when you awaken, listen for the birds and just be thankful to be alive.
Footnotes:
1) Wagon-lit by The Free Dictionary
3) The Life and Times of Hercules