India: Settling In

"As it is we are merely bolting our lives- gulping down undigested experiences as fast as w can stuff them in- because awareness of our own existence is so superficial and so narrow that nothing seems to us more boring than simple being. If I ask you what you did, saw, heard, smelled, touched and tasted yesterday I am likely to get nothing more than the thin sketchy outline of the few things that you noticed, and of those, only what you thought worth remembering. If it surprising that an existence so experienced seems so empty and bare that its hunger for an infinite future is insatiable? But suppose you could answer, it would take me forever to tell you and I am much too interested in whats happening right now. How is it possible that a being with such sensitive jewels as eyes, such enchanted musical instruments as the ears, and such fabulous arabesque of nerves as the brain can experience itself as anything less than a god? and when you consider that this incalculable subtle organism is inseparable from the still more marvelous patterns of its environment- from the minutest electrical design to the whole company of galaxies- how is it conceivable that this incarnation of all eternity can be bored with being?" 

-Alan Watts 

India is one hell of a drug. When you first arrive things can feel pretty overwhelming to say the least; the constant beeping of horns, the thick smog and pungent incense filling your nostrils, cows and people everywhere, colors saturating your eyes with amazing sights over stimulating the best of us. When walking around the city you quickly learn that you must look up and down simultaneously otherwise you run the risk of being run over or walking straight into a big pile of cow poop . . . and it can be slightly maddening. But, as you begin to settle in you find a comfortable rhythm with India; take the flies for instance . . . when you first have your meals they feel like constant pests that are sure to ruin the best experience. You fiercely try shooing them away from your plate only to have them reappear a second later in greater numbers, but as the chaos of newness settles into familiarity you realize that gently fanning your hand over your meal has the same results as the energy-expending-anger-filled swat.

India is full of little surprises: the power goes on and off. Sometimes you have hot water, sometimes not. One day the laundry machine works perfectly giving your clothes the ride of their life, another day you end up washing your clothes in a bucket by hand. India truly teaches you the art of being present, enjoying what you have in each moment.

I have loved exploring the city, the jungle, and the farms. The children are always the first ones to want to show you around, the proud young men with their newly purchased scooters are next, and last are the older women who want to teach you the ropes to simply hurry you along or get you out of the way. All of them have been so helpful and friendly, not the reception I was expecting based on my fear-filled conversations with previous India visitors and residents before I left the US. I’m not sure if their fear kept them from fully relaxing here, or if they truly had negative experiences, but as of today (knock on wood) mine has been nothing short of transformative.

Sundays are our days off; we can literally go anywhere and do anything (within reason). Yesterday I decided that I just wanted to be alone, walk the city streets, take pictures and go shopping.

I left the Ashram early, earlier than I ever have before in an attempt to get to the city center while the crowds were still in their hotels having breakfast. The sun was still hidden behind the mountains and the smoke from the morning fires was just beginning to fill the air. By the time I reached Lakshman Jula I realized that most of the city was still “sleeping”. The shops were all closed or were just starting their morning rituals of sweeping the stoops, the food vendors were pulling their carts through the streets searching for the most profitable location, even the stray dogs were snoozing on the steps leading down to the bridge in the rising early morning sun. This was exactly what I wanted . . . for the first time since my arrival the city was quiet. Abruptly I smelled something sweet and familiar . . . chai! Not that green-aproned coffee shop crap that we call "chai" in the States, but real chai! Like a cartoon character following a stream of colored filled air, my nose searched out the origin to that delicious perfume. EUREKA! The German bakery where Stacie and I had been once before was just opening up and getting ready for business. I could smell the pastries baking, and the chai spices pungently filling the air with the first thick batch of the day. My tummy rumbled with delightful anticipation and to my happy surprise the shop owner remembered me as I was waking up the steep stairs to the front door!

He is a wonderful Tibetan/Indian man standing about 5 feet 2 inches tall. He has one of those sweet smiles that are truly infectious and the last time I was here I noticed his favorite thing to do was to watch his customers enjoying their food. He sits in a small chair in the corner eyeing the restaurant and coordinating the efforts of his staff ensuring that everything is done swiftly and correctly. He invited me in before the doors were officially open, I was to be his first customer of the day, and he asked me why I was up so early. I told him that I wanted to experience the city while the sun was rising. He smiled that big smile and told me that I would get the best food from him because of that decision. I ordered and he returned not two minutes later with a small white plate holding my croissant and a metal cup filled with fresh chai. Being the first customer definitely had its perks! Fast service with hot-out-of-the-oven freshness. 

I held my drink in my hands and took in its sweet aroma with a long deep inhale, holding the hot cup in between my cold fingers. I took one sip and I was in heaven. It was hot, thick, spicy and sweet all at once. That is India . . . He came over after I had devoured my croissant in less than 2 minutes to check on me. “How is your travels?”; his English was improving every day I saw him. I responded with “Every day in Rishikesh is a good day!” something he had said to me on our first meeting. He started laughing when he realized that I was repeating the lesson of positivity he had bestowed upon me not two days before. He patted me on the shoulder, as one would do affectionately to a small child, and instructed me to relax and enjoy the view. I sat on my stoop and enjoyed the breathtaking sights while resting my feet over the ledge as I watched the Ganges flow strong and steady. 

I had only been sitting a half hour and everything had changed. The sun was shining brighter now, and the noise was coming in fast and strong. People began to appear, from what felt like nowhere, and were hustling through the streets off to open their shops. I felt like I was watching the world from the heavens, out of reach of anything bad that could ever happen. I listened to the monkeys chirp for food on the bridge, the children asking their parents for popcorn in Hindi, and artisans playing music by the side of the road.

No longer did the smell of smog or rotting trash bother me. (That’s the beauty of incense; not only does it calm the mind and keep less-pleasant odors away, but it also repels the flying pests).  I was practicing the skill of finding pleasure in doing nothing. How many times at home had I rushed to gulp down my coffee without really tasting it? How many times had I passed by the same people on the street in Huntington and never noticed their faces? How many times have I missed these beautiful opportunities to give myself? Here it is impossible. You must slow down to settle in; slowing down will also help to speed you up in the end to India's beautiful rhythm.

After an hour my body became stiff and craved movement. I went to close out my bill and asked the store boy how much I owed. He replied "nothing". Nothing?! Impossible. I asked him to check again to make sure that I wouldn't leave some other group with my tab . . . again, he said my bill was paid. I looked around to see if someone from the Ashram I knew had taken care of it for me as a surprise, and that’s when I saw the owner sitting in his chair in the corner smiling that big smile of his. I went over and tried to pay him the 180 rupees I knew that I owed. He got up, and said “no”. I knew that insisting would be an insult to his generosity and so I tucked the money into my pocket and thanked him for my amazing breakfast. I told him that I would be back soon so that he could practice his English and we parted ways. I left full, stomach and heart, completely content with life.

I have officially settled into India and I love it.