A goddess is a goddess, and likes rupees
Okay, so Saturdays are the days of rest. It comes after six straight days of waking in the dark and marching along to the yoga shala through a herd of goats and a pack of roaming pigs. Even the cows are absent that early. I still haven't figured out who milks them all. I will keep you posted on that.
This being a day of rest, I had grand plans for a giant rest through the morning, but I woke up at 6:45, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as if something in me needed to join my roving animal friends. Unfortunately, I missed them today. They were probably still snoozing when I left the house for breakfast. I visited Anu's, a lovely place that provides this internet connection from a brightly lit garage, and meals on a terrace just above. I ordered idlis and peanut chutney and some orange stuff and chai. The chai is spiced and highly caffeinated. The idlis are puffy.
Along with some yoga students from Canada, England, Finland, Mexico and South Africa, I rented a car to take us to Chammundi Hill. There are 1000 stairs to climb there, heading up toward a troglodyte swami who doesn't smoke a big chillum at the top, but I imagined he would. On the way up the stairs, we anticipated seeing a large bull, a symbol, I was told, of the forces slayed by Chammundi, the fighting goddess who saved this region from evil. One Indian man told me that the bull grows larger and larger every year. Another Indian man told me that Chammundi is Kali by another name. I can't substantiate any of the above because our driver seemed to take us somewhere else. Or maybe it was Chammundi Hill. I don't know that I will ever know.
This is all I do know for sure. There were no stairs where we went. And there was no bull. We couldn't find a swami, nor a cave, nor a chillum. What we did find was an interesting temple where we were immediately swarmed upon driving into the parking lot by more than 20 men who wanted us to buy postcards, flowers, flutes, wooden figurines. Our group was separated as we tried to cut through the pack of salesmen. We found each other, each accompanied by some kid who had latched on to give us a tour. My kid was named Anklesh. He was 15 and knew the names of all the European capitals. I asked him the capital of Nepal and he admonished me that it was not in Europe. He did know that Ottawa was the capital of Canada. I didn't bother explaining that Canada is not in Europe.
He ended up lasting with us. We all ended up with hands full of sweet-smelling jasmine and marigolds, wooden figurines, but no postcards. A minor success. We wandered through the temples and a police officer took 10 rupees out of my hand. Anklesh said it was payment for the temple, and Shiva would be happy. Thank goodness, because I would hate to piss off Shiva, especially if she has the Indian police force behind her. We came out of the temple with no more flowers, slimy but blessed wooden figurines, and lots of dots on our foreheads. We were lighter by about 150 rupees a piece, and absolutely ignorant about who blessed us and who didn't. It could have been the cop... a goddess in disguise? I suppose the lesson was to free ourselves from attachment to personal wealth. Or maybe just to avoid temples from here on out.
Almost running, we all crammed back into our car and told the driver to take us to the Southern Star Hotel. It is a sanctuary with a pool and chocolate cake. He drove slow, seeking to extend our time together at 125 rupees an hour. I told him I would pee my pants if he didn't step on it. We were at the pool in five minutes.
So, that was tourist-hungry Mysore. I may keep my distance for a while after the experience. Yoga is at 5 tomorrow. Massage at 10. Tabla at 3. And it's my birthday. We are going to see the Palace light up, as it does every Sunday. That will be my birthday cake.
This being a day of rest, I had grand plans for a giant rest through the morning, but I woke up at 6:45, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as if something in me needed to join my roving animal friends. Unfortunately, I missed them today. They were probably still snoozing when I left the house for breakfast. I visited Anu's, a lovely place that provides this internet connection from a brightly lit garage, and meals on a terrace just above. I ordered idlis and peanut chutney and some orange stuff and chai. The chai is spiced and highly caffeinated. The idlis are puffy.
Along with some yoga students from Canada, England, Finland, Mexico and South Africa, I rented a car to take us to Chammundi Hill. There are 1000 stairs to climb there, heading up toward a troglodyte swami who doesn't smoke a big chillum at the top, but I imagined he would. On the way up the stairs, we anticipated seeing a large bull, a symbol, I was told, of the forces slayed by Chammundi, the fighting goddess who saved this region from evil. One Indian man told me that the bull grows larger and larger every year. Another Indian man told me that Chammundi is Kali by another name. I can't substantiate any of the above because our driver seemed to take us somewhere else. Or maybe it was Chammundi Hill. I don't know that I will ever know.
This is all I do know for sure. There were no stairs where we went. And there was no bull. We couldn't find a swami, nor a cave, nor a chillum. What we did find was an interesting temple where we were immediately swarmed upon driving into the parking lot by more than 20 men who wanted us to buy postcards, flowers, flutes, wooden figurines. Our group was separated as we tried to cut through the pack of salesmen. We found each other, each accompanied by some kid who had latched on to give us a tour. My kid was named Anklesh. He was 15 and knew the names of all the European capitals. I asked him the capital of Nepal and he admonished me that it was not in Europe. He did know that Ottawa was the capital of Canada. I didn't bother explaining that Canada is not in Europe.
He ended up lasting with us. We all ended up with hands full of sweet-smelling jasmine and marigolds, wooden figurines, but no postcards. A minor success. We wandered through the temples and a police officer took 10 rupees out of my hand. Anklesh said it was payment for the temple, and Shiva would be happy. Thank goodness, because I would hate to piss off Shiva, especially if she has the Indian police force behind her. We came out of the temple with no more flowers, slimy but blessed wooden figurines, and lots of dots on our foreheads. We were lighter by about 150 rupees a piece, and absolutely ignorant about who blessed us and who didn't. It could have been the cop... a goddess in disguise? I suppose the lesson was to free ourselves from attachment to personal wealth. Or maybe just to avoid temples from here on out.
Almost running, we all crammed back into our car and told the driver to take us to the Southern Star Hotel. It is a sanctuary with a pool and chocolate cake. He drove slow, seeking to extend our time together at 125 rupees an hour. I told him I would pee my pants if he didn't step on it. We were at the pool in five minutes.
So, that was tourist-hungry Mysore. I may keep my distance for a while after the experience. Yoga is at 5 tomorrow. Massage at 10. Tabla at 3. And it's my birthday. We are going to see the Palace light up, as it does every Sunday. That will be my birthday cake.
posted by your friend at Saturday, October 01, 2005
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