But after a few days of hearing myself talk in my head incessantly, I remembered why my ego likes to be busy, and also remembered that self absorption is not the same thing as self introspection. "Busy" can drown out mental chatter, but it can also prevent me from addressing the chatter. So we (yes, I'm now speaking of myself in 3rd person...) were at a draw. Would my busy ego-self volunteer to organize the several thousand DVD's at Shaheen Bagh (I'm not kidding--there's a mini Blockbuster store here, and it's in dire need of alphabetization), or would my spiritual-self tether my ego and get some extra meditation in? I'm sure there was a metaphorical reason that I got travelers diarrhea at about the time that this dilemma arose. God was rather bluntly telling me that I needed to get rid of my shit, and get some work done--and that did not include organizing the DVD rack. So after a few days of feeling like hell, I faced the fact that this opportunity to do some spiritual work could not go wasted on "busy" or riding a mental hamster wheel.
It took awhile, but I eventually settled into a nice routine of yoga (that's Allan striking a pose in the photo) with Allan and our instructor early in the morning, followed by meditation, contemplation, visualization and journal writing throughout the day. Of course there were those occasional hours that I'd chat casually with the staff or other guests, or get consumed by my little addiction called iPhone. But for the most part, I was carving out some solitary time to focus. Yoga and mealtimes were about the only time I saw Allan, who was enjoying his own solitary time. In the evening we'd chat with other guests or watch a movie. A nice family from Delhi were staying down the hall from us. This was also their first time at the "Bagh", and they'd be here for a few days on holiday. The two children, Mugdha and Nirmalya, were about as adorable as any two young children could get, and they practiced their English on Allan and I. Mugdha was 3, and had sassy short black hair, large eyes with eyelashes a mile long, and round cheeks with irresistible dimples. In the morning she would come looking for me, calling me Daisy. It's sweet moments like that when I realize what I've missed by not having children. The wife, Manisha, was talkative and jolly, and would tell us all about the different things to see and do in India. Her husband, Nripendera, was very well spoken and knowledgeable, and worked in the IT industry, which often took him to America. They told us that one could not visit all the temples and shrines in India in one lifetime. Good thing there is reincarnation, I thought. They also told us that just when you think you've figured India out, something new will confound you, and you have to start all over again. It was great to have long chats with them over lunch or dinner, and they even invited us to visit their home next time we were in Delhi. Manisha would lament that she didn't have her staff of three servants with her to help with things--even while on holiday....it appears that families with money all have staff servants, or "helpers" as Allan likes to refer to them. The staff here were shocked that Allan and I cook our own meals at home, do our own laundry, and clean our own houses. They are also shocked that we live alone. "You must get married again," they tell us, "so that you will have a wife and children to take care of you when you are old." (They didn't realize we are already kinda old--they thought we were in our 30's. Bless them.) Having a family is the number one priority in India, and they just can't accept the idea that we're on our own.
After a few days of this leisure lifestyle, Allan and I decided that we were rested and renewed enough to attempt a day trip to Mussoorie (pronounced pretty much like the US state, Missouri). It is a hill station town just 20 or so miles up the mountain, which we can see from Shaheen Bagh. In the evening, the city lights of Mussoorie illuminate the mountain ridge like a magical Shangri-La. Mussoorie was originally a vacation spot for the British to escape the heat of India, and is now a vacation spot for Indians. Just what we needed! A vacation from all this relaxation! (click on photo to enlarge. The lights of Mussoorie are on the ridge to the left.)Our taxi arrived after breakfast, and we were sent out the door with a bag of sandwiches for lunch. The driver was a young guy who spoke virtually no English. He had Indian music playing on his stereo, and we settled into the back seat, with windows rolled down to let in the cool morning air. The drive up the mountain was not for the faint of heart, since driving in India means you weave around cars, honking to let the other cars know you are there, passing slower cars on curved roads which in America would be considered a death wish. So instead of getting tense by looking at what was coming ahead of us, I focused out the side window, did some deep breathing, and watched the city descend as we rose ever higher, eventually to 6,600 feet. At one point, I noticed a group of people that had pulled over and were peering over the cliffs edge. I pointed them out to Allan, and the driver said, "Bus went over in morning. 61 dead. Tourists." I felt an uneasy mix of remorse for the victims of this tragedy, and also a surge of anxiety for us. The road curved around just so we could see the remains of the bus, clinging to the cliffs edge. (Allan later read that it happened the day before, and only 5 were killed, but many were badly injured.)
By the grace of God, we arrived safely. Our driver dropped us off at the entrance to Mall Road, the main street in town. We agreed to meet the him back at that spot in 3 hours. Allan and I began our walk with caution, bracing ourselves for another Delhi/Agra experience of being haggled incessantly by rickshaw drivers, guides, and beggars...but to our surprise, it did not happen. No one even seemed to notice us.
What we found instead were lots of Indian families strolling the streets enjoying the cool, splendid morning. Men walked in groups, some holding hands just like the guys in Japan and China. Young girls dressed in bright saris were giggling and eating ice cream. Shopkeepers were selling clothes, produce, and costume jewelry. Old leather-skinned women and sweet young girls were roasting corn or paapad (a crispy flat bread typically made from lentil flour) to sell, and young teenage boys were making snacks for people out of peanuts, vegetables, and seasonings. Sure, the town was still filthy dirty, with crumbling buildings, piles of garbage, and cows milling about. But this time, there was a sweet perfection about it all, and I no longer felt the shock of that first day in Delhi. But we do find it hard to understand why garbage is all over the streets, and the city garbage cans remain empty...I want to ask Manisha this, but just can't bring myself to question it. (The photo is of a tram that will take you higher up the mountain. Vendors are selling cotton candy, fresh popcorn, and bottled lime juice.)
We walked the entire length of Mall Road, stopping in a few stores. At a pharmacy, I bought some Chyawanprash, which I used to take when I lived in Arizona. Indians will tell you that this Ayruvedic tonic will prevent colds, and give you energy. It's a thick, black mixture of honey, ghee, and a list of fruits, herbs, and spices like alma (Indian gooseberry), long pepper, cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves. Considering my latest health challenges, I figured I needed all the help I could get. And at a cost of $1.80, it was a steal! (If you'd like to try some Chyawanprash yourself, it can be found in any Indian Food Import store, or buy it online at iHerb.com.)
For lunch, we sat on a bench and looked down at the valley, sort of seeing the city of Dehradun through the haze. We ate our delicate English tea sandwiches like true westerners, but not without first slathering hand sanitizer all over our hands, face, and water bottle...India is not the best place for a germaphobe, and well, I'm sort of a germaphobe. After 2 days of sitting on the toilet, it was easy for me to be a bit paranoid about what went into my mouth. We could have eaten in one of the many all-vegetarian cafes in town, some of them looking rather inviting and delicious, but the Bagh insisted that we take a lunch with us. Prices in the cafes were shockingly low, and it was great to see such a multitude of vegetarian options. (They refer to food as Veg and Non-Veg here, and most restaurants will post which type of place they are, some inclusive of both types. All packaged food has a green dot to indicate it is veg, and a red dot to indicate it is non-veg. Sure wish America would adopt this simple but useful identification!)After three hours of walking the streets, which were also crammed with cars honking their horns almost constantly, we were ready to return to the safe, quiet haven of Shaheen Bagh. India is not the best place for those who are sensitive to loud sounds (that would be me again) and my ears were ringing due to the piercing sounds of horns blasting a mere 2 feet away. Our driver was waiting for us, and the drive down went swiftly and pleasantly as we listened to a CD collection of Indian love duets--or that's what they sounded like, anyway. Walking through the doors of the Bagh was like coming home, and I couldn't wait to take a shower, and settle in for the evening, returning to the inner quiet that I had been nurturing the past several days. Other guests here find it a bit strange that we came all the way to India to stay in one place and relax. But they also admit that Shaheen Bagh is an oasis of quiet, beauty, and amazing food. "Maybe next time we're in India, we'll see the sights," we tell them. But it was good to see another side of India in quaint Mussoorie, which was not chaotic like Delhi (Manisha says that Delhi is not the real India) or overly touristy like Agra.
For us, India needs to be approached with baby steps, taking in bit by bit, letting it sink in, and then going out for more. Perhaps in a few days we'll be ready for another adventure, but for now, it's good to relax, center, and focus here at our new home. I feel so lucky to be here, to have this opportunity to retreat from DOing and work on BEing. Shaheen Bagh is much like that old TV show, Fantasy Island, and my fantasy of having an extended retreat is coming true. And by episode's end, I hope to achieve a level of inner stillness and focus that will provide a deeper connection to spirit and God.
Namaste!
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