Ahh India. Just when you thought she couldn't bust you or try your patience anymore, along comes a whopping big blow when least expected.
My last day at the shala found me in a rather bad way- slight asthma attack the night before - and tight chest. I did full primary series to my best ability. My teacher Sharath (as he adjusted me in Supta Kurmasana - yes - the turtle pose where legs are behind the head and hands bind behind the back) looked at me afterwards and said:
"Too much thinking, too much emotion".
And boy was he right! I was filled with emotion at 4:45 am on my mat, just about to explode in tears. Grief hits the chest I am told, and I was definately torn between staying and going. This practice always has a way of pushing our buttons, it opens things up, stirs the soul and brings up past samskaras like I have never known before. Going at it hard over the last month certainly saw me wasted by it. I am usually happy go lucky and for 24 days out of the 30 I think I was, but the remaining 6 days were disasterous. I wanted to constantly throw a shoe at everyone I met, saw or who came my way. Yikes. Most unlike me.
As much as I wanted to stay on our Mother's soil, true Yoga is also about doing our duty - home was beckoning so I packed the usual last minute stuff and headed on my way... I was in two minds anyway.
The NEW Bangalore Airport is almost 5 hours from Mysore. This is roughly the time it took me to get there. On the way I was told that I would be caught in traffic for an additional hour if I was stuck at the train track- my driver Kumar, who was on his second airport run for the day (poor fellow), told me I was 'very lucky madam' to escape this dreaded wait.
All the while I was in the back of an Ambassador hacking my guts out, sniffling away and trying to breathe. Slight fever was taking place and I had to stop three times just to compose myself. My mantra was "almost there, almost there". As opposed to my usual, "be present, be present". Sod that. I was being honest and manifesting a quick getaway from the crazy uncertainty of Indian roads. No Chris to strum and sing to me on his 30 Euro cheapo Indian Giltone (as opposed to Gibson) guitar to amuse me. No sing - song on this car ride. Boo hoo.
Arrived to the new swanky airport with caution.
Too weak to carry my own bags (very unlike me), I got a porter (very , very unlike me) - who managed to drop my food (home cooked with love) on the floor in a pile of mud.
Wonderful.
It all went in the bin. It could not be saved. I just shrugged, bobbed my head back at him and accepted to surrender. What-ya-gonna-do- eh? No way I would mess up my system with airplane food - good opportunity to sugar bomb it!
Then I was accosted by some crazy man telling me he loved me! He was on the same flight as me. I indicated to the check in lady to sit me as far away as possible. But I had to pay overweight. Go to the other side of the airport, and pay. (No credit card machines - new airport syndrome - so was walking around aimlessly for a cash resource.) This man was still - a - following.
Finally I got back to the counter, a little disgruntled. Proceeded to tell them loudly so he could hear that I was excited to see my HUSBAND (fake) in Mumbai as we were expecting BABY! (fake fake fake!)
NEVER LIE IN AN INDIAN AIRPORT EVEN WHEN BEING HARASSED AND ACCOSTED BY STRANGE INDIAN MAN
The flight staff then started asking me a million questions about my pregnancy telling me I could not fly. I then told them that it was all FAKE to get crazy man away from me. Secrutity was called, bloody Bollywood drama. I was thinking to myself, I guess this is one of those days, sick, dealing with all this rubbish and just dying to get back home at this point! Finally they got it, sat crazy man at the back of the plane and me right at the front, giggled at me for pretending to be pregnant, (at 45 kg, it was a stupid story), as I took my dupita out (fake bump) from under my top the giggles got louder. I swear I should be in an Indian soap opera.
It gets kind of crazy still from there. With cookie selling guy, the roti selling guy and even the hand carry security baggage guy (make sure bags are tagged with airline tag - every single one).
So, a week ago I was eager to stay on for an extra month, And now, all I can think about is my bed. No barking dogs in the middle of the night, no crazy vampire mosquitos biting at my feet sucking sugar out of my system, no indians eating dinner at midnight and washing up and banging pots thereafter, no crazy ceiling fan that makes crazy cranking noises - earplugs or no earplugs. No indian ladies bashing laundry louder than I have ever heard, no papaya screaming man. Just the comfort of my bed. The comfort of being home when sick and that feeling of security. Dont get me wrong, I love Mother India, but this time around, one month was ENOUGH. And the fact that it all came to a head today was a nice way to end the trip.
As I sit here in mild curry madness which comes with a new airport opening, I keep looking at the board at all the delayed flights and am manifesting a clear getaway. My gate number keeps changing and I am crossing my fingers that the green boarding light goes on soon.
Too late, gate change, now delay.
But of course, this is India. But of course, this is a swanky new airport, in India, so I should know better by now. Thank goodness I know how to sleep squatting just like a true Indian. Thank goodness for yoga and for blessing me with open hips to be comfortable enough to sleep like that, armed with my pink travel pillow to swat the next pervert that comes my way...
I am sugared up to my eyeballs. I have no idea why or what has happened to me today. Must be the need to be energised and so sugar is keeping me up and awake. Two hours to Mumbai, 5 hours before I take off for home. it will be a long, long, sugar filled night.
By the time I reach home my journey would have been 24 hours.
Mother India, you have busted me this time around but I still love you and all the craziness you throw at me. I have vowed to come back at the end of the year and I know I will be missing you too soon. I'll laugh when I am home, after I have recovered from my beaten chest, puking fits and constant need for the loo.
I leave you with some shots of lasting memories and all my loves - farewell for now ...
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| Maria and I - Mysore, India |
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