India is famous for its tea (chai), I'm sure you know, the most common being "masala chai," "mixed tea." Usually the mix is some combination of black tea, cardamon, and ginger with milk and sugar. Lots of sugar. (if you're rich, your masala might also include anise, and cinnamon- mmmmh) Tea starts the day, and ends every meal, tea breaks are as common as cigarette breaks, and if you want black tea or tea without sugar, you have to say so. Saying "only a little bit of sugar, please," does not work- it's all or nothing.
Festival time means "meethayee," sweets. Diwali was this week: a sort of combination of Christmas (gift-giving), Chanukah (festival of lights), Fourth of July (fireworks), and the New Year (..new year). Everyone gives everyone sweets. A few weeks ago was another festival in Mussoorie where the town builds a huge statue of a demon and then burns it down (see video)- again, sweets were everywhere. Neighbors, friends, and families all buy little boxes full of various sweets of varying shapes, sizes and colors (really, from brown to pink). The funny thing is, there's not a whole lot of variety in flavor- at least not that I can tell. Texture, yes, flavor, eh, not so much. They all pretty much just taste like... sugar. Somehow though, whenever someone presents me with a box of sweets to choose from, I always feel like maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to distinguish. I am getting better- the milky ones, from the coconutty ones, to the buttery ones. But still, overwhelmingly the predominant flavor is the fear of cavities.
So. My daily "routine" begins, of course, with a cup of chai that makes me glad for my toothbrush. Here's the rough breakdown these days:
6:30 wake up
6:40 get out of bed
6:43 gather all of the toilet paper I anticipate needing for the day, and stuff it in my bag. Change clothes, lock the door to my room.
6:50 bathroom, brush teeth, wash face.
7-8am Meditation wrapped in my shawl/blanket in the yoga hall with Shivamji. Chai (1).
8-10am Yoga Asana class with Shivamji on the roof of the yoga hall. Sun salutations with the sun on your skin= priceless.
10ish Chai (2).
10:15ish Breakfast in the sun, view of mountains, listen to puja (prayer) from inside the yoga hall.
10:30-12 Class, and chai (3). 3-4x/week is Mantra class with Sunilji (of the priest class; he does the pujas daily) 2x/week is Ayurveda class.
12-2pm Yoga Asana class with Raviji.
2:10 chai (4).
2:15/2:30-3ish lunch.
**For the last two weeks, I have had free time from 3 until puja and dinner, which is when I would read, write, or go for walks with the other student here and Bhima- or Sunil- or Ravi-ji, however, beginning on the first of November, I will have the time from 3-5pm as an intensive Ayurvedic Cooking and Nutrition course 5x/week.
6/7ish Puja with Sunilji in the yoga hall- sometimes I go to listen to the prayers, as Sunilji has a beautiful voice, but sometimes I read in my room instead.
6:30/7:30 help cook dinner. I can now make a pretty decent batch of chapati and I could probably whip up some dahl if I needed to :)
7:30/8ish eat dinner, watch Bollywood movies.
8:30ish chai (5).
9ish quick bucket shower, and go back to my room: reading, writing, sleeping.
Pretty sweet, no?
Well, yes. But as my own yoga practice has taught me, balance is key. So naturally, some things are... a bit bitter.
First off, I'd like to admit that I entered into this experience with some preconceived notions and expectations. Both from my upbringing and from my spiritual studies and my personal practice, I've gathered for myself a personal code of conduct, and perhaps it is unfair to hold others to that same value system. After all, a whole lot of my experience here is about attempting to view things from within their own context (i.e. language, place, story). However, I do believe that fundamentally, we are all human, made of the same stuff, and we have an incredible capacity to connect across wide barriers (language, place, story). At some point, the relativistic fallacy makes it more, rather than less difficult to connect to others- there is a certain level of behavior that is reasonable to expect from people, no?
Now, let me backtrack for a moment. The yogic lineage has traditionally been passed down from master (guru) to student. With the western notion of "every man for himself" and the "rags to riches" story imbedded in our mindset, it has since taken a different form in the western world. We (or, rather, I) operate on the basic principle that (for the most part) every person, regardless of age, place, sex, gender, race, religion, can practice yoga, can become a better person, can "enlighten" themselves (or should be able to). This butts heads directly with the historic yogic tradition, but it is a difference I can make peace with. What I have a hard time with, is ego.
Every morning during meditation, about 40 minutes into the supposed hour allotted for silence, Yogiji begins a schpiel about higher forms of meditation that his guru has shown him in high trance states that cannot be taught. He continues about how wonderful his guru is, often repeating stories he told me a few days ago, and recounting his own experiences in trance meditation. He always reminds us how much hard work is required for these experiences, how important it is to have a master, and how these meditation techniques cannot be taught. And how important it is to have a master. Also, it is very important to have a master, and these things cannot be taught.
Okay. Yes, I understand that my meditation practice is weak, and I will most likely not reach those states for some time, if at all, and I understand that to have a good teacher is important- that is why I am in a teacher training program, but I also recognize an undertone of ego- a desire for me to call him "guruji" and of...showing off (really?) how wonderful his meditation is. Here is where I have trouble: I am here to learn to be a better teacher; I am interested in healing, and in pedagogy, and it doesn't seem like these 20-30 minute rants are serving those purposes. In fact, if I hold him to the standard I hold myself to, as a teacher - that I can "know" everything in the world, but if I cannot IMPART that information, then it is useless- to tell me that you cannot teach me certain meditation states only tells me that you are not a very good teacher. Now, I recognize that there are different ways of knowing, and for that matter, different ways of teaching (as in his guru coming to him in dreams etc.), and I understand and appreciate that these meditation experiences must be accessed on a different plane. You tell me one time, two times: no problem. Every morning? Problem.
Now, just to bang the nail on the head, let me tell you a story.
Two days ago, Yogiji's friend, Swami Gagnanda came to visit. He brought a few students from Indonesia with him, and he was teaching the afternoon class. Among the students from Indonesia, was a child of 6. The first thing he says is that to practice yoga, you must have two mats, not one, overlapped perpendicular to each other so as to create a cross. In response to the mildly bemused looks on our faces he says, "its okay, most people don't know this." As I said before, I am of the belief that everyone should have access to the benefits of yoga, so to lay down any "prerequisites," so to speak, for the practice, slightly ticks me off, but I exhale.
The second asana he teaches is a movement of the trunk, from a seated position, in 360 degrees- moving the spine in all directions. From my asana teacher perspective, we were not warmed up enough for this movement. From my asana student perspective, he did not teach the movement. Rather, he demonstrated, fairly quickly, and then said, "do it." As we made our first attempts, he commented, "move as if you have no spine." I felt my jaw tighten as my mind screamed, "I DO have a spine!" Then, exasperated and unsatisfied with our spine-full movements, he beckoned the child forward, held his ankles and put him into full lotus posture. My stomach dropped. Then he held the boys head, and bent him forward, to the side, twisted him, rounded his spine back, and came around the same way on the other side. First of all, I am pitying the child, who does not speak English, or Hindi, and is this Swami's puppet for the moment. I am appalled at the "teaching" style of demonstration in the absence of explanation (would an art teacher show a student the Mona Lisa, and say, "do it."?), and furthermore, demonstration on a child- if you cannot do the asana yourself, with the precision or slowness required properly demonstrate or explain it, then you shouldn't be teaching it. Lastly, I am actually enraged that this pedagogy expects my body, a 20 year old female body, or the body of the 42 year old man behind me to be able to mimic the body of a 6 year old boy. And for the first time in my life, I walk out of a yoga class.
Yogiji's behavior is a lesson for me, that we are indeed, all human- complete with bodies, egos, faults, and emotions. Swami's behavior is a lesson in... how not to teach, I suppose. And even though the yoga tradition began in India, the main focus is much more on meditation, rather than asana. Culture in the States is highly preoccupied with bodies, and so it makes sense that the western focus of yoga is on asana. It is for this reason that David Frawley has said in his book, "Yoga & Ayurveda," that some of the best asana teachers and the greatest development of asana is in the West.
So after walking out of Swami's class, ranting to myself for 4 or 5 minutes in my room, and doing my own asana practice, I sit in meditation, and decide that I need to take everything with a grain of salt.
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