Another week gone by

Here it is, Friday again, and only (?) two more weeks to go on the course. It's hard to tell how I feel about that - on the one hand, it would be nice to have some time to call my own. On the other - it seems that ashram life really does agree with me, basically. The atmosphere suits me, I really like what I'm doing, and the people are so nice. I know that I'm going to be really sorry to say good-bye to some of them. I have sort of been adopted by a group of native boys (somewhere in their twenties, I suppose) who are doing the course with us. They hardly speak a word of English between them, but we usually sit together at the lectures (they have simultaneous translation). We have some form of primitive communication, mainly based on smiles and nods, and looking out for each other occasionally. And they call me "Mama-ji". I think I'm going to have Itai and Eyal call me that when I come home...

What else can I say? Maybe I'm starting to get Indian, it's beginning to be normal to me that everything (except the driving, of course) is done in slow-motion. There have been a few more performances in the evenings - the Kathakali dancers (did I tell you-all about that the first time?) gave another performance several days ago. Now, the first time they came, which was close to the New Year, I was pretty tired, and the performance went on and on and on... Every movement, every color on the dancer's face, every article of clothing - means something, and they mainly improvise according to the pre-defined story line - which is fine, if you understand the sign language they're using. If you're a simple plebian, who doesn't talk with his hands (well, at least not exclusively) - then all you're seeing is a few guys in skirts with green paint on their faces waving their hands around (okay, maybe I'm putting it a bit over-simplistically). Evidently, the authentic performances last all night long (something like 10 hours), and the natives come in and go out, take naps and have conversations while the whole thing is going on. Anyhow, the point of the story is, that the second time they came - I actually sat through the whole thing (we westerners get the shortened version - only 2 or 3 hours), and also enjoyed it. The same thing happened when the musicians came around - a whole band of singers and players, plopping down on the floor of the stage, and sitting there cross-legged, singing for quite a long time. The songs somehow seem to be long-winded tunes that meander up and down the scale, apparently with no real direction in life, twirling around a little, speeding up and slowing down, lilting back and forth - but somehow, everyone (in the audience) is either tapping his foot, waving head or hands, or just generally shaking his body one way or another. My Indian friends told me that at least one of the songs is taught in school, and everyone has to know it by heart (and although I liked it, I didn't really notice that it had a melody or anything that you could repeat with any kind of precision).

Next week, and the week after that, we will all be teaching classes in yoga - Itai and Eyal, you might as well get mentally prepared for mandatory yoga classes after I get home - I'm going to need to practice on somebody... Altogether, this stay is quite educational - I'm learning some new skills that will doubtless be useful for the rest of my life. For instance, using a squat-down, hole-in-the-ground toilet, that doesn't flush (the trick is - to open the tap and start the bucket filling as soon as you walk into the toilet, so that you have something to flush with by the time you're done) or getting in and out of a mosquito-net without letting any bugs in with you. But my real pride and joy is this: I now know how to change my tee-shirt in a room full of people, without showing any skin. Remember how I told you in my last letter about the tight schedule and uniforms? Well, we Indians are inventive in our solutions...

One of the things they keep talking about (in the philosophy classes) is the ego. This is evidently one of the major (if not the biggest) stumbling block towards true Self-realization (Self, with a capital S, for reasons I will go into only if you ask). So there we are, 150 yogis, all working hard at keeping the ego to a minimum, at the same time that we're trying to stand on our heads and touch our heels to our heads and our foreheads with our toes (which, when you think of it, should be enough to get anyone's ego flat as a pancake, especially when you see someone else who can actually do that). Fair enough endeavor, you may think, and quite noble at that. But then, there comes this fire-ritual ceremony (complete with imported bare-chested, white-painted swamis, incense, bells, enough smoke to make a foot-thick layer on the ceiling, and banana-leafs to kneel on while you're throwing your own personal little flower-petals into the fire as an offering), and we were told that it is only fit and proper to cleanse ourselves and wear our best saris for the occasion. So naturally, out comes my best (and only) sari, and I have a great chance to see if I can put it on all by myself (yet another skill I have acquired). Let me tell you, I received more compliments that evening than I have received in the past 5 or 10 years. The first time I wore it, it felt so weird that I took it off and went to sleep after 10 or 15 minutes. And I didn't really believe the people who told me that it looked nice - mainly because it felt so strange. This time I stayed for several hours (taking pictures) - and now I ask you - what to do about the ego thing? It's going to take me at least a couple of months (if not years) to cut it down again to where it was before, after all those compliments and my Indian friends going bananas and wanting pictures with me, etc., etc. Maybe these things are sent to try us - things like this, and like mosquitoes, which are actually tests of how-far-are-you-going-to-take-this-"non-violence"-philosophy...

A few personal words: You wouldn't (or maybe you would) believe big Victor's "story"!! (This is an Indian guy we met at the ashram) Remember when we went to Thiruvananthapuram together (yes, I can still pronounce it - one more skill), and he ran out of money and asked me to loan him 100 rupees? He said he would pay me back on Jan 8th, when he received money from somewhere. He kept on saying that, to several other people, including the health hut, etc. Guess what happened on Jan 8th? Out the ashram gate, amid many sweet goodbyes & farewells. No big deal, it wasn't that much money - but I did really have a peculiar feeling about him, and I wasn't terribly surprised.

Also, I got the names of the places we visited on the Kanya-Kumari trip: the first temple, by the waterfalls (where boys came to take a shower and men came to brush their teeth - in the waterfall, not the temple), is called the Tripparappu Mahadeva Temple (the temple, not the waterfalls). The last temple, the one with the 7-story-high stone roof carved completely with various gods and legendary heros, where the drums, bells and horns were going the whole time, is called Suchindram Thanumalaya temple.

Lots and lots of love to everyone, and the lesson for today is:
when you're doing what you really want to be doing - you really do love everybody (and for the more advanced students among you, the moral of the story is - how you feel about everybody else is going to start with how you feel about yourself).
Please forgive the philosophizing, I can't help myself.