The Power of Being

One of the first things I wanted to do when I moved back was go to Mrs. Singh’s place. I remembered the peace of those very early mornings during high school, when my sister and I would dutifully make our way over to her house for yoga classes. I was awestruck my first day there: here was a woman in her late 50s, who had the body and physical power of a very fit 20 year old. She would lift men and women who were 4 times her size, fold her body in ways that didn’t seem humanly possible and had not a grey hair to her head.

Quite a few years later, I was back last week. Over the last few years, I’d been starting to feel parts of my body wearing down unaccountably, and felt that an attempt at internal rejuvenation was in order. A knee pain here, arm-pain because of computer use,etc. I asked her if I could join up again, and she told me that I would have to come at 5am; she just had no more space. Before I left, she asked, “Any problems?” I looked at her and shook my head; I was embarassed to admit that at 23, I probably had more ‘problems’ than her. In the less 10 days that I’ve been going, I’ve felt some astounding changes. My knee pain is much reduced, the severe allergies to the pollution/dust that I’ve had has decreased tremendously, and I feel a lot more flexible and energetic. Who knows, it might all be psychological, or have to do with other positive lifestyle changes, but I’m hooked.

Though in her early sixties, Mrs. Singh still has no grey hair. Her hair is lustrous, thick, and black. No dyes, no coloring, nothing. (She took one look at my hair and shook her head sadly. “Girls these days, what they do to their hair! All these pantene-vantene chemical shampoos and all.”) She’s wonderfully fit, nimble and radiates energy. She revealed yesterday morning that she actually got into a minor accident and fractured her arm last week, but she refused to treat it or stop doing/teaching yoga, and it has completely healed itself since. Wow.

The philosophy of yog (which means “to unite”, as in uniting of our mind and body) is an interesting thing. The science behind the yogasanas (different postures) involves channeling blood flow to particular areas. My mom, currently in the process of finishing a year long naturopathy/yoga course, explains it thus: “Our organs are like a sponge. When we do an asana (pose), we are ‘wringing’ it. When we release the pose, the blood pours in.” There’s breathing and stretching of various key muscles involved as well, and a host of other things that go into the the true practice of yoga. So it’s not only about the asanas; diet change is a huge part of the therepeutic process. My mom’s professors have stories that are nearly unbelievable. One cured himself, through yoga and naturopathy, of brain cancer. Another’s guru, eyes closed and in lotus-pose, was able to move himself in an arc, 10 feet ahead. The number of people who’ve come to her naturopathy center and have been cured of diseases that medical science would consider impossible to cure, are countless. Mrs. Singh herself began to seriously practice yoga after being diagnosed with an incurable blood disease 32 years ago.

I’ve always enjoyed outdoor sports, and have never really thought twice about their benefits. I’m beginning to rethink that; running, as I’d found, is great for certain parts of the body, but not so great for others. My mom’s center recommends that people combine yoga with brisk walking for exercise. When I first heard that a few months ago, I admittedly thought it was hogwash, and refused to give up running. How can yoga be better for the heart than running?

Now, having taken up yoga with a more open mind-frame, I realize that I’m an impatient person in an impatient world. Sitting in a posture that makes you twist parts of your body you didn’t know existed, for more than two seconds, is not an easy task. I find myself getting impatient after a few seconds, and have to try hard to still myself into keeping the pose for at least 2 minutes. Yoga is hard because there’s no constant stimuli, there are no distractions. It’s just you and your breath. It takes physical and mental stamina, inner strength, and the willingness to be with your body.

There’s a lot of things that science can’t explain about yoga. However, I’m beginning to believe more and more in the unseen power of the universe, and the extraordinary powers of our minds. Physical fitness aside, I think yoga has a far more powerful lesson to teach: the power of being still, the power of just being.

Vannla, the fruit-seller, and two neighboring girls who popped in

Chez Kamatchi

The fruit-seller near my house, whose picture stands above (I'd also mentioned her in the Piece of Cloth post below) invited me to her house for lunch one day last month. It was definitely a highlight of Chennai-times. Here's the scoop:

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At 11 sharp, Murali, her 15 year old son (and the subject of one of Rahul's posts) rang my doorbell to pick me up. We walked towards their home, and I asked about his exams. “Science only is left”, he said. What did he want to do after 12^th? “College”, he said matter-of-factly. And after that? “Computer-job” was the confident reply. Did he have a computer at school? Vigorously nodding, he said that there was in fact, a computer in his corporation (government) school.

By this point, we were nearly at the entrance of their compound, and I quickly navigated my way through the intense alley-way cricket match, watchful for any stray cricket balls whizzing past my head. People, life, dogs, vegetables, kodoms, vigorous water-pumping…it was a cacophony of strident smells, sounds and randomness, but it felt alive, and warm.

We walked upstairs and I saw the tiny, one-roomed apartment had been swept meticulously for the occasion. Kamatchi (the fruit-seller's niece), her lustrous black hair fully-oiled and in a tight bun, face covered with some kind of a mud mask, came out in the suit I had given her. She looked stunning. Another’s riches indeed…She graciously asked me to sit down, and I could see the food carefully placed in the vessels next to the seating-mat she had placed for me on the floor. Clearly, she had made preparations for my arrival. I continued standing, taking in the life exuding from the walls of the 8 by 4 foot space. One wall was covered entirely with neon-lit photos of gods, to its corner was a collection of family photos, each one precious and carefully kept. She entreated me to take a seat, and I sat down, genuinely feeling comfortable and warm in the presence of such hospitality. She brought out a set of three leaf plates, and slightly apologetically, asked if it was okay that we ate on those. I quickly assuaged her fears, and she took mine aside, gave it a quick rinse and set it on the floor in front of me. In a second, she had stepped into the kitchen and brought out a bowl and a tumbler with water. She asked if I would wash my hands, and as I stood up to go wash it, she indicated that she had brought out the bowl for that purpose. Her thoughtfulness blew me away yet again. She poured out a big helping of rice, porriyal and sambar, and brought out 2 apalams. I had to cover the plate completely with my hands, desperately trying to say “poddum!” (enough!); she just continued to give me more, saying that I needed to eat and get healthier. This hospitality, this finesse – from a girl exactly the same age as me.

We began talking, I was curious to hear about her thoughts on marriage and men. She had mentioned to me earlier that by this December, she would definitely be getting married. So why did she want to get married then? “Mother, father, brother – all will be more peaceful then.” But what did she want? She repeated a similar answer, something about how it was the right time, and I realized, that it was really just that. I don’t think she even thought about possibilities otherwise. Did she like children? Her beautiful, smile again appeared, and she said that she did. Both girls and boys? “Both.” What about love marriage, what did she think of that? With the look of distaste that only Indians can express (it’s like – the face you make when you encounter a big, white slimy slug) she said, “love marriage I don’t like. Here, many are having love marriages, but in village only few. Here the men will say they love and marry, but then they will leave the woman.” What did she want in a man? Her answer was delivered with a shy smile, with the hint of a blush, “Drinking, smoking…don’t want. Someone who is honest and good, that is all.” I knew I couldn’t evade her turning the question on to me, and soon she asked. Did I want love or arranged marriage? I was hesitant to tell her that I really didn't know if/when I would get married, so I said I wanted a love marriage, and her eyes opened wide with the flickering of mischief. “What, you want only love marriage, vaa? Now, neeng love pundreenge vaa?” (Now, are you doing love?) I tried to brush off these sorts of questions, but said that marriage would only happen later, I didn’t know right now, but probably 28 or 29. “For us, 28 and all, that is too late.” No preaching, no sermons, no ‘what-the-hell are you talking about’. She understood that we have different ways of living. This was an acceptance of humanity at its best.

But did she want to work? Did she ever go out? What kind of work, she asked quizzically? It was obvious she knew very few unmarried women who worked, and had no idea what kind of a job she could do. A little ruefully, she said that she would want to, but her younger brother and parents were dead-set against it. How did she get to be in this flat, with her aunt, brother and nephews? What did she do here? (6 of them slept in that tiny space). She recounted the story: after her aunt’s husband died, her mother asked her to come out there to help her aunt, who was having a hard time earning an income and taking care of her three sons. So she and her brother (an auto driver) came. She washes the clothes, makes the food and does all the household chores at home. They don’t let her go out too much. And her brother, what about him? “He doesn’t give any money, its chitti who gives it all -- for the food, the gas, the electricity, everything. Sometimes, he gives 10 rupees, but mostly, nothing at all. She’s a good woman, my chitthi, I really like her.”

I had finished with my food about 5 minutes before, and as I looked down at the plate, I realized that an army of ants had already arrived, ready to clear up whatever I couldn’t get at. (I thought about my own complaints about the few ants lying around in some far-flung corner of my apartment..) She again reached over to wash my hands with the tumbler-water. I thanked her profusely, and stood up to walk out. I made as many comments as I could about how wonderful her food was, what a great job she did taking care of them all, and how good she looked. I walked out and said thank you, to which she responded shyly with “thank you, thank you, please come again”, and her 1000-watt smile.

I think of all the dinner invites I’ve received and have given, and I wonder if any have touched me more than this. It’s so true that when truly giving, it doesn’t matter how much you have in your hands or pockets. True giving comes from a place where the waters run far deeper.

Back

Khatte-meethe phalse, kale-kale phalse,Thande-thande phalse, achche-achche phalse
Phalse-phalse kaleeey, kaleeeeey...

My first thought was that the rich, mahogany baritone resonating from the scorching street below my house was that of a snake-charmer or itinerant sadhu. Charlatan or not, the man’s voice was mesmerizing. I asked Mamta, our polio-afflicted maid, who the person was. After a brief moment of bewilderment, a smile spread across her face. (Only these phoren-people would wonder about something like that) In Bengalied Hindi, she told me that he was just a blackberry seller on his bicycle. With her traditional gait -- back-bent, hand upon knee -- she slowly limped out, still smiling. I looked out over the balcony and saw him, white-turbanned and tanned, slowly moving through the streets. This man, I thought, has made a rational decision about his attitude towards his chosen career. Like most other fruit sellers, he could sit quietly at a stand. Or he could cycle through the seats, shouting “Phalse!” in a shrill monotone.
Yet, he has chosen to sing.

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After my recent Western inundation, which consisted of a whirlwind of US cities combined with a taste of Oxfordian England, I debated taking up blogging again. Far-flung friendships revisited, I realized that it has been a good way to keep conversations going. So I’d like to give it a go again..

My apologies for being incommunicado for a while, have just been trying to get back into the swing of things here. A little on what I’m up to now.. For reasons involving a summer heat-induced household menagerie (I had the privilege of witnessing an epic lizard battle on my bedroom wall), general annoying apartment maintenance issues, and a growing sense of isolation in a family-oriented society, I’ve moved from Chennai to Delhi. I won’t bore you with the challenges of moving back in with the ‘rents since I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about. But I’m actually looking forward to hanging out with family and getting to know this part of the world better. As for the future...plans are still brewing, but my current thinking is to quit my job at the end of June. In the months after that, I plan to apply to grad schools, learn naturopathy, and make it over to Ahemedabad and Manav Sadhna for a couple of weeks. (Rahul, who fortuitously passed through Delhi en route to Thailand yesterday, has left me convinced that it’s the place to be). And as for my next job..am still thinking about it. Recent interviewing experience at a consulting company hasn’t convinced me that it’s the thing for me right now. I’m not sure what the future might hold, so I’m not ruling anything out at the moment. With some exploration, I hope I’ll chance upon something I enjoy. But for the moment, there seem to be too many mountains to climb, books to write, and sunsets to catch before I strap myself into another 9-5.

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As to this blog, I don’t know how often I’ll write, I’m going to see how things go. I’m hoping to use it as a forum for thoughts, ideas, and for profiling people/things that inspire me, so write in if you have something to say, would love to hear your thoughts. Lastly, a shoutout to friends across the globe who -- despite oceans, time, busy work/school schedules -- took the time out to meet with me, inspire me, scold me and shelter me at some point in the last few weeks...love you all!

chitraveena extravaganza 

will miss those banana leaf meals