Summer camp in India

Here I am, at summer camp in Mysore. This is my schedule so far.


Every morning, I arrive at the shala to do yoga from about 6:30 to 8:00. I consider myself lucky to have a later spot. Many people prefer to get a jump on their yoga at 5 am, so tthey can do the chant with Pattabhi Jois. While the chant is special, there are two days a week when I have to start at 5, so I will relish this later time spot and my sleep.

After yoga, the yoga students drink from coconuts and banter about their asana progress. Out of the three days I have practiced, I have skipped this once. I like the juice; I'm not always keen on the frustration over slow progress. Since I like where I am in my practice, I often find that I have very little to contribute to the conversation, unless I aim to piss people off. I don't aim to do that quite yet.

I go home; I peel off my sweaty, sticky, stinky clothes and shower. I am immediately sweaty and but less stinky. I have breakfast of fresh fruit and chai. I have twice tried to order a coconut dosa and both times been forgotten. It just isn't in the cards quite yet. I will report back.

At 10, I head to my Ayurvedic massage class. I am such a hippie. It's three hours per day for 17 days and covers the basics of Ayurveda (which means signs of life) and some insane massage. Today we learned the backs of legs. I fell asleep and drooled while my partner worked on me. When I wiped the drool off, I had to then dole out a massage for my partner. It reminds me of Thai massage. Same, same, but different. You know, because I'm in India, not Thailand.

At 1:30, I wander around, thinking about eating again. I have another coconut and a sweet lime. Maybe I go to the market in town. I met the incense kid there and he rolled me some sticks of sandlewood. That's the local specialty. Maybe I go to the internet cafe and write and listen to a sickenly high voice sing through lunch on an ancient-sounding recording.



At 2, I practice Tablas with my Tabla-playing pal. He is from LA, and he really likes living there. I am trying to discover why. After we practice, we both have lessons for an hour. My Tabla teacher bobbles his head from side to side as he tells me the notes to play. Ta, Di, Tom, Nam. That's all I know for now, but it sounds nice when I get it right.

By 5, I am ravenous. There are about 5 places that cater to the delicate stomachs of westerners. I really like the one above my internet connection because the view from the dining area on the balcony is miraculous. It's nothing but palms and wires as far as the eye can see. I have spotted squirrels and monkeys cavorting with the birds in the trees. Just in front of the distant horizon, there is an ornate tower rising from some temple or other that I can't seem to find when I'm on the ground. Every perspective changes things in Mysore.



After dinner, I read and read and write and write and I go to bed by 9. Isn't that something? I don't know when I have gone to bed at 9 for three nights in a row. Every night, I listen to the rickshaws and motorbikes putter along the street, and the children laughing, and the birds or some, as yet unidentified, living creature cackling.

I imagine that I will start going out a bit. But for now, I decided that since there are so many westerners here, I would like to do my best to learn somethings from Indians that I could not or perhaps, would not, do at home. Maybe I will discover a way to bring Tabla and massage together at long last.