India, what next?
Indore, thrice voted the cleanest city in India, and essentially a student city completely devoid of tourists and foreigners. The school in which I had enrolled was part of a complex featuring a "Research Institute", an Ashram, an old-age home and a traditional cow shed, walled in with a kilometre long driveway leading to the main road. Having arrived in the middle of the night, I hoped the sensations of spuriousness would be allayed by the light of day. I excused myself for having any expectations and waited patiently to see how things would unfold. (I thought long and hard about rewriting this part of the experience, but I thought the description I wrote on the evening of the first day would be the most honest and uncoloured by hindsight.)
Yesterday
Dwayne came with me to the airport in a taxi ride that I thought would be my last. We dodged, swerved and beeped our way through traffic, cows and speedbumps, cutting the hour and a half trip right down to 45 minutes. A shame, because that was meant to be our last little bit of time together before my 2 months in Indore.
Anyway I swear the same guy flew the plane because the flight was also a good 30 minutes shorter than expected, with turbulence to match a Goan tuktuk. After landing, I experienced that heart-wrenching feeling of watching the luggage carousel grind to a halt while I stood there, bagless, only to discover that the zipper on my backpack had burst and it had been deposited in a corner with the fragile baggage, contents shambling around it. Luckily, after scooping up my stuff and making a hasty exit, I spotted my taxi driver and had to fend off dozens more while he went off to fetch the car. As usual the drive to the ashram was fascinating - this time even more so because Indore is a city that thrives through the night, apparently. There were bright lights everywhere, families of 4 or more scooting past stalls, shops, gyms and even a funfair, all buzzing with activity, even though it was after 10pm on a Monday.
In spite of receiving my itinerary in advance and having managed to send a taxi driver to fetch me at 9.50pm, no one was at the school to let me in when I arrived. Eventually we got hold of a guy who seemed to think that I was late although I'm pretty convinced I was actually way earlier than I should have been, considering the speediness of both pilot and taxi driver. Anyway, luckily my roommate was awake and friendly and didn't seem to mind my late arrival.
Sleeping, or attempting to was a stress-inducing, self-defeating practise that kept me up all night. I am not used to not being able to sleep. The fan above my bed seems as though it was designed to chop air with the precise frequency that prevents the brain from switching off. I hope the ones in the lecture rooms are this good.
Today
My roomie got up at 6am so I had the room to myself for a few awkward hours. Everyone was downstairs doing a very vocal yoga practice so I packed and re-packed my cupboard a few times, took a shower, sent 5 million messages to my boyfriend and posed studiously on the bed with a tiny copy of the Bhagavad Gita, in case anyone should come in, waiting for an appropriate time to go out and find someone to tell me WTF to do with myself.
Now, in case you haven't experienced an ashram in India, or India in general - low standards are the standard. Honestly the best that you can hope for is that things are clean. Which they are here. Other than that, creepy, terrifying and desolate are the adjectives that spring to mind. Doors are hidden behind morbidly flapping curtains, stairways lead to nowhere or are barricaded with discarded furniture and bundled up stuff, orange-robed Babajis and multicoloured gods gaze down from every wall and dried up garlands are strung from every window. One thing I do like though, is the dining room. There are two rows of tiny square tables, just enough to raise your plate up off the floor, and several signs promoting silence, or maun. This is where I bumped into Mataji – the guru's wife - who didn't tell me what to do with myself but did give me a towel, and the young guy who let me in last night, who was bewildered that I knew his name, in spite of having introduced himself thoroughly. I sat down for a lonely breakfast, until all the others arrived from the morning class. I pretended to be one of those people who does eating meditation and thereby managed to avoid all unnecessary eye contact and conversation. Then I wandered around awkwardly a bit more, starting early on my Karma yoga by organising the library until someone from the office called me to do my paperwork. As usual, the main concern was that I have PAID. Then I was presented with my kit, which is a serious kit, full of books, manuals, a t-shirt and a jala neti pot (great, because I left the other one in Goa).
Finally, the moment we have been waiting for arrives (after 5 videos promoting the course that we have all paid for anyway): Orientation and official welcome from Guruji. We light the lamp, we receive the dot, we are garlanded and we chant Om. We hear about one another and the lecturers that are hosting us. We rub our palms together and feel the energy radiate over our eyes. Guruji tells us even if we try to, it will be impossible to open our eyes because we are now looking within and it's much more interesting in there. I feel like opening my eyes would be perfectly easy, but the most awkward thing ever, so I keep them shut. Just like at Shri Kali (my first yoga school), we are told several times how we are not in tune with the self, nor our true nature; how we are not yet capable of going within – but! not to fear, because Guruji is here. Inexplicably we are given little sweet cake cubes at the end which Guruji dishes out of a box. All the other staff are called into to receive this strange blessing, which they do with a glee that makes me feel quite unsettled. My inner cynic thinks: “Wow, it's just NLP with a Pavlovian twist,” and I immediately start to regret the amount of time and money this is going to use up. But then, just like at Shri Kali, I remind myself - even if it is a mad cult - it'll be worth it for the story.