Watching the Dharma Wheel Turn
When I first met Dr. Umesh my healthy sense of skepticism kicked in. I always tend to be wary of locals in a foreign land who are quite so eager to help out clueless tourists. But Maria was sold immediately. After her first Aryuvedic massage she came out floating and glowing and let Mike and me know that we would no longer be consuming alcohol, tobacco, drugs, meat or even cold water. We both looked at each other and quickly agreed that she had lost her mind.
The next morning during our yoga practice he told me my energy was blocked. Ok, I could believe that, I was feeling pretty blocked as of late. After class he told me I should take of the mala that I was wearing around my neck, the one that my soul-brother Alex had given me. "It's no good for your energy" he told me in his broken English. And that was enough to set me running.
Alex is one of the best friends I've ever been lucky enough to have. Maybe it's because as an Indian-Muslim and a Persian-Jew, both raised in the US we share a bond only minorities of minorities could ever understand. He gave me that mala at our going away party. I never quite understood the significance it has for him, but when he pulled me aside and started to take it off to present to me, I sensed the obvious hesitation in his hands. He didn't want to give it to me, but did anyway out of a bond of true friendship and I accepted because I could not refuse such a gift.
After our yoga class with Dr. Umesh Mike, Maria and I decided to wander around the streets of Varanasi. Before too long Maria innocently questioned me about the mala. Ever since her awakening she had been reminding me of my mother and sister when it comes to lectures and I was in no mood to hear it. I had just spent a week being told how I should live my life by just about every member of my extended family and didn't need one more bit of input, so I found a way to shut her down quickly.
It wasn't until trying to shoo away a persistent rickshaw-wala that I saw the Wheel of Dharma turn firsthand. He commented on my mala and showed me his. He then said he thought it was great that I didn't eat meat, smoke or take alcohol. And I understood.
Those reminded me of the first questions Dr. Umesh asked me. I had proudly told him that I did all of those things, within moderation of course. I had decided a while ago that the life of renunciate was not for me. I wished to embody the middle path as much as possible, "everything in moderation, even moderation" I would tell anyone who would listen.
But I had chosen to wear a mala that signified a vow I had no intention of keeping. Once I realized that my hands couldn't pull it over my head fast enough. As soon as I got it over my nose I felt my shoulders relax for the first time in two weeks, and only then realized how much that mala had weighed.
I stared at it in my hands and said outloud to no one in particular, although Mike and Maria were walking next to me "This isn't my mala ... it's Alex's!"
Anger was the first emotion that I felt "Why did he give it to me? He didn't even want to!"
And then I understood "He gave it to me, so that I could give it back to him. He gave it to me so that I could return it to him"
And then it all became clear "I have to go back to San Diego"
Before I left San Diego I had this fear of floating away. This notion that one road leads to another, that it would be easy to hop from India to Thailand to Cambodia to God knows where. There was nothing really bringing me back home. And I could just disappear to never be seen again, much like my traveling companions joked about. I told everyone that asked that I was coming back in 3 months, but I was never sure if I really believed myself.
And then in one single instant, it became cemented in my mind. I knew what the future held. May 7th I was hoping on a plane from Delhi back to the US and somehow getting myself back to San Diego so that I could return my good friend Alex's mala to him, put it back in his hand where it belonged all along. I understood that he gave me that mala, to keep me tethered to my friends and city which I love, so as to not float away.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
A Son of Lucknow
"4 Times" Nida said with a sense of assurance in her voice that made me doubt the version of events. "Once before independence, once after independence and once in his seventies."
"That's only 3" I thought to myself. "Ghazal said something like 14." Samira agreed, she remembered it too, from just recently when Ghazal was in Madison and we all went met at my parents home to visit. Ghazal had just been flown into New York to attend a muppet conference. She played the part of Chamki from Gali Gali Sim Sim. Nida still insisted it was 4.
Rahil and his family drove in from Minnesota and Samira and Asma flew in from Ohio. We stayed up late into the night trading stories of family history. Our side of the family didn't have too much too offer but we listened intently as Ghazal regaled us with tales of how cool our Nana was. He had just passed a few months ago.
When I asked our Seema-khala she said yeah 14 times, but our Nani our corrected her. "18 Times! They used to hang them up and beat them. But still they would not stop fighting. No matter how many times he was arrested! 14 times before Independence. 4 times after, even when he was 70 he was in jail. 3 days he spent in jail cell."
I had heard about the last jail cell not too many years ago. It was after he gave a rousing speech to a crowd of striking Union Workers. A few of them took it upon to attack one of the managers. Nana was arrested for inciting a riot. Released 3 days later for lack of evidence.
We heard second-hand references to the stories he told about the rats which attempted to chew off his leg. He said he had to stay up all night to beat them off. It was one of his "Damned Fools" stories, because someone always played the part of the damn fool.
After he was released a crowd of workers carried him on their shoulders all the way back to my Nayara Khala's and Shahid Uncles apartment in Lalbagh. The neighbors were wondering what happened. There were no elections pending so he couldn't have been chosen to serve again.
He was a student leader during the Indian Revolution. Was arrested with Gandhi. He was a Freedom Fighter, but never signed up for the pension, because he said he never did it for the money.
My Nana, Muhammad Shakil stayed a staunch Communist up until his last days. He spent most of his time as a lawyer, some as a politician. A member of Congress. Some still refer to him as a Nawab of Lucknow. We never heard too many of Nana's stories growing up, since he passed last year I've been asking everyone I can about stories about him.
I even asked Vikas, the head pimp at charge we met presiding over his sisters wedding. When I mentioned Nana's name the entire room hushed. A raucous animated group of brides brothers and cousin-brothers fell silent ... and Vikas said it with that characteristic Indian sideways bobble. "He was a great man, a son of Lucknow." We had only met Vikas a few hours ago when they were attracted by the unsual sign of a ghora yogini walking down the streets Maria, Mike and I were soon invited into the wedding and fed and welcomed as guests. That Indian hospitality is something else.
At the internet cafe in Varanasi I got a vague promise from Ali to ask his parents for more stories. He was from Lucknow as well and we met while We met while Facebook'ing the girls we left behind.. I asked if they had heard of Muhammad Shakil. He knew the name but not too much more.
Nana was a true renaissance man. Still remembered for his poetry. A family story is told that on the night of their wedding he looked at my Nani for the first time and told her "Woman, even those raven locks will not tempt me, I am off to fight the revolution!" My mother loves reciting his verses, with a teary nostalgia in her voice.
My Nani dutifully supported him throughout all those difficult years while he was in jail. And all those years since. And my Nana returned to her over and over again, until a year ago last December when he finally passed. Throughout those years he composed more and more verses to her and her beauty and intelligence and continued to embody his beliefs.
Before I left Lucknow my Nani pulled me aside one more time and besieged me with love. "Kashif beta, this is no way to behave. Your Nana was not an ordinary man, but he was very orthodox with his family. He loved us, he would do anything for us. But he fought for what he believed in. He was a great man and he raised a family. It is high time you get married now and stop this wandering life of yours."
The great thing about my Nani is that it was only with the love and support of a woman like that was my Grandfather able to rise to such heights. Before their marriage, all the family told her to do anything but marry at Freedom Fighter, what chance has a cause like that got. But my Nani was no slouch in her own right, she was one of the Daughters of the Revolution, later training the next generation as the Dean of an all girls school. But that which would deter those who seek order and reason excited her.
I told my Nani not to worry. That I would make her proud. That my history had not yet been written and no one knew what my story would yet be. That maybe someday I would find a woman as strong and capable as she was, who would love me just as she loved my Nana. And just imagine what heights I could rise with that type of support!
"4 Times" Nida said with a sense of assurance in her voice that made me doubt the version of events. "Once before independence, once after independence and once in his seventies."
"That's only 3" I thought to myself. "Ghazal said something like 14." Samira agreed, she remembered it too, from just recently when Ghazal was in Madison and we all went met at my parents home to visit. Ghazal had just been flown into New York to attend a muppet conference. She played the part of Chamki from Gali Gali Sim Sim. Nida still insisted it was 4.
Rahil and his family drove in from Minnesota and Samira and Asma flew in from Ohio. We stayed up late into the night trading stories of family history. Our side of the family didn't have too much too offer but we listened intently as Ghazal regaled us with tales of how cool our Nana was. He had just passed a few months ago.
When I asked our Seema-khala she said yeah 14 times, but our Nani our corrected her. "18 Times! They used to hang them up and beat them. But still they would not stop fighting. No matter how many times he was arrested! 14 times before Independence. 4 times after, even when he was 70 he was in jail. 3 days he spent in jail cell."
I had heard about the last jail cell not too many years ago. It was after he gave a rousing speech to a crowd of striking Union Workers. A few of them took it upon to attack one of the managers. Nana was arrested for inciting a riot. Released 3 days later for lack of evidence.
We heard second-hand references to the stories he told about the rats which attempted to chew off his leg. He said he had to stay up all night to beat them off. It was one of his "Damned Fools" stories, because someone always played the part of the damn fool.
After he was released a crowd of workers carried him on their shoulders all the way back to my Nayara Khala's and Shahid Uncles apartment in Lalbagh. The neighbors were wondering what happened. There were no elections pending so he couldn't have been chosen to serve again.
He was a student leader during the Indian Revolution. Was arrested with Gandhi. He was a Freedom Fighter, but never signed up for the pension, because he said he never did it for the money.
My Nana, Muhammad Shakil stayed a staunch Communist up until his last days. He spent most of his time as a lawyer, some as a politician. A member of Congress. Some still refer to him as a Nawab of Lucknow. We never heard too many of Nana's stories growing up, since he passed last year I've been asking everyone I can about stories about him.
I even asked Vikas, the head pimp at charge we met presiding over his sisters wedding. When I mentioned Nana's name the entire room hushed. A raucous animated group of brides brothers and cousin-brothers fell silent ... and Vikas said it with that characteristic Indian sideways bobble. "He was a great man, a son of Lucknow." We had only met Vikas a few hours ago when they were attracted by the unsual sign of a ghora yogini walking down the streets Maria, Mike and I were soon invited into the wedding and fed and welcomed as guests. That Indian hospitality is something else.
At the internet cafe in Varanasi I got a vague promise from Ali to ask his parents for more stories. He was from Lucknow as well and we met while We met while Facebook'ing the girls we left behind.. I asked if they had heard of Muhammad Shakil. He knew the name but not too much more.
Nana was a true renaissance man. Still remembered for his poetry. A family story is told that on the night of their wedding he looked at my Nani for the first time and told her "Woman, even those raven locks will not tempt me, I am off to fight the revolution!" My mother loves reciting his verses, with a teary nostalgia in her voice.
My Nani dutifully supported him throughout all those difficult years while he was in jail. And all those years since. And my Nana returned to her over and over again, until a year ago last December when he finally passed. Throughout those years he composed more and more verses to her and her beauty and intelligence and continued to embody his beliefs.
Before I left Lucknow my Nani pulled me aside one more time and besieged me with love. "Kashif beta, this is no way to behave. Your Nana was not an ordinary man, but he was very orthodox with his family. He loved us, he would do anything for us. But he fought for what he believed in. He was a great man and he raised a family. It is high time you get married now and stop this wandering life of yours."
The great thing about my Nani is that it was only with the love and support of a woman like that was my Grandfather able to rise to such heights. Before their marriage, all the family told her to do anything but marry at Freedom Fighter, what chance has a cause like that got. But my Nani was no slouch in her own right, she was one of the Daughters of the Revolution, later training the next generation as the Dean of an all girls school. But that which would deter those who seek order and reason excited her.
I told my Nani not to worry. That I would make her proud. That my history had not yet been written and no one knew what my story would yet be. That maybe someday I would find a woman as strong and capable as she was, who would love me just as she loved my Nana. And just imagine what heights I could rise with that type of support!
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Life At The Ideal
As I deplaned in Tijuana my first thought turned to a street taco. Not that the food in the Yucatan and Chiapas wasn't fabulous, but I am 100% convinced that the best street tacos in the world can be found right off of Avenieda Revolucion in Tijuana. But I was tired. The long bus ride the night before to Villa Hermosa coupled with the two flights that brought me within 20 miles of home, just south of the border, had exhausted me. And moreso than that, I was just ready to be back in a familiar place.
So instead of heading off in search of pastor, I crossed the border and caught the trolley to downtown San Diego. I had already managed to secure a soft landing at the Ideal Hotel, which isn't a hotel at all, but rather a ... well ... sort of a ... meditation center? I had been helping out there randomly for a while and had been assured I would be warmly received. I had already figured out what I was going to be doing here for the next 3 weeks. I needed to tie up some loose ends, sell my car and practice as much yoga and meditation as I could, preparing myself for my upcoming trip to India.
As I turned up 3rd Avenue I saw Wesley out front acting a fool as usual and I knew that I was home. Within minutes I was greeted with hugs all around and a cup of hot tea. I shared a few stories of my travels to Mexico and marvelled at all that had changed in the 3 short weeks that I was gone. I was suprised to see Mike Callaghan at the Ideal, last we talked he was heading to Santa Barbara or some other spot, but no, he too had moved into the Ideal. Our first conversation in a couple of weeks went something like this:
Peter, true to his word, had left a note on my new bedroom door, lollipops on my pillow and a key in a secret location. But it wasn't until Hip Fu's Qi Gong class that evening that I realized just how stagnant I had allowed my Chi to become after just a few weeks of hard living. Teaching my first yoga class in several weeks made it all that much clearer to me. So the next day I decided to head to my friend Maria's class up the street.
Her chakra flow was exactly what I needed, I started feeling all the tension melting away. But I could tell there was something else going on, and after class I found out. She had just broken up with her fiance Travis and had that look of fear and uncertainty about her. I told her about how Mike and I were heading to India and saw her eyes light up. Within a few days our group had grown by one more.
But it wasn't until Dipika arrived on the scene that I really started to understand just how wrong I had been about everything I had thought up until now. She had grown up in India and is far more connected to the culture than I was. And after not too long of hanging out with her I realized how woefully unprepared I was for this trip. Whenever I tried to speak to her in Hindi somehow Spanish managed to come out of my mouth.
The next few days were a whirlwind of booking flights, applying for Visas and trying to balance my intentionally unprepared nature with that of my two new travel companions. While Mike and Maria crossed off the items on their checklists and purchased things that set their minds at ease, I kicked it with "Dibs" and started to realize just how differently things were going than I had intended when I arrived in San Diego.
The next few weeks descended into a bunch of late night wine and bullshit sessions while we excitedly talked about "plans" and watched bollywood flicks. Instead of devoting all this time to my practice as I had intended we somehow managed to turn the Ideal Hotel into the coolest Buddhist Frat house in the world.
As my impending departure came closer and closer, I realized that I hadn't actually tied up most of those loose ends I came to San Diego to take care of, but instead had created a newer, far more complicated thread, that I had no idea what to do with.
Instead of selling the car, I left it parked illegally in the same spot with a dead battery and a flooded engine. But in between this trip and my last I had learned a little something about which friends I could rely on to help me out and in what way. And I felt assured that I left it with good ones that would do what they could to ease my burden and make this irresponsibility of mine possible without resenting me for it.
The night of our going away party was the worst. We all knew that there was a chance, perhaps even a good chance, that Mike and Maria weren't coming back for a while. They had nothing calling them back to San Diego, or anywhere else for that matter. But that's not where I was. With each warm embrace and heartfelt goodbye I assured my friends that I would be back in 3 months, if only just to convince myself.
I was leaving San Diego and heading to India with a few particular goals in mind, open to the possibilities of what might happen, but closed to the notion of floating away. Expectations are crazy things because the reality of the world seldom plays out like you imagine. I learned that lesson first hand throughout my 3 weeks in San Diego. And I had to admit to myself that even before I left I was imagining how life would be like when I got back, letting my mind wander and dream about the possibilities, about how certain loose threads might be neatly tied up.
I was ok with that, because knowing where you're at, also means knowing which trajectory you're headed on and setting your intention for how you wish the world to play out. It's being open to the wonderfully amazing and unexpected opportunties that life throws your way and adjusting mid-stream that's the key. And if these last 3 weeks were any indication, I felt fully confident in my ability to sieze those moments and make the best of them.
As I deplaned in Tijuana my first thought turned to a street taco. Not that the food in the Yucatan and Chiapas wasn't fabulous, but I am 100% convinced that the best street tacos in the world can be found right off of Avenieda Revolucion in Tijuana. But I was tired. The long bus ride the night before to Villa Hermosa coupled with the two flights that brought me within 20 miles of home, just south of the border, had exhausted me. And moreso than that, I was just ready to be back in a familiar place.
So instead of heading off in search of pastor, I crossed the border and caught the trolley to downtown San Diego. I had already managed to secure a soft landing at the Ideal Hotel, which isn't a hotel at all, but rather a ... well ... sort of a ... meditation center? I had been helping out there randomly for a while and had been assured I would be warmly received. I had already figured out what I was going to be doing here for the next 3 weeks. I needed to tie up some loose ends, sell my car and practice as much yoga and meditation as I could, preparing myself for my upcoming trip to India.
As I turned up 3rd Avenue I saw Wesley out front acting a fool as usual and I knew that I was home. Within minutes I was greeted with hugs all around and a cup of hot tea. I shared a few stories of my travels to Mexico and marvelled at all that had changed in the 3 short weeks that I was gone. I was suprised to see Mike Callaghan at the Ideal, last we talked he was heading to Santa Barbara or some other spot, but no, he too had moved into the Ideal. Our first conversation in a couple of weeks went something like this:
Kashif: I'm heading to India for a few monthsAnd within minutes of arriving my voyage of self discovery to my parents' homeland had become a buddy trip. And pretty soon all my preconceived notions about what this stop over in San Diego was all about would be thrown out the window.
Mike: I want to come
Kashif: Buy a plane ticket and get a visa
Mike: OK
Peter, true to his word, had left a note on my new bedroom door, lollipops on my pillow and a key in a secret location. But it wasn't until Hip Fu's Qi Gong class that evening that I realized just how stagnant I had allowed my Chi to become after just a few weeks of hard living. Teaching my first yoga class in several weeks made it all that much clearer to me. So the next day I decided to head to my friend Maria's class up the street.
Her chakra flow was exactly what I needed, I started feeling all the tension melting away. But I could tell there was something else going on, and after class I found out. She had just broken up with her fiance Travis and had that look of fear and uncertainty about her. I told her about how Mike and I were heading to India and saw her eyes light up. Within a few days our group had grown by one more.
But it wasn't until Dipika arrived on the scene that I really started to understand just how wrong I had been about everything I had thought up until now. She had grown up in India and is far more connected to the culture than I was. And after not too long of hanging out with her I realized how woefully unprepared I was for this trip. Whenever I tried to speak to her in Hindi somehow Spanish managed to come out of my mouth.
The next few days were a whirlwind of booking flights, applying for Visas and trying to balance my intentionally unprepared nature with that of my two new travel companions. While Mike and Maria crossed off the items on their checklists and purchased things that set their minds at ease, I kicked it with "Dibs" and started to realize just how differently things were going than I had intended when I arrived in San Diego.
The next few weeks descended into a bunch of late night wine and bullshit sessions while we excitedly talked about "plans" and watched bollywood flicks. Instead of devoting all this time to my practice as I had intended we somehow managed to turn the Ideal Hotel into the coolest Buddhist Frat house in the world.
As my impending departure came closer and closer, I realized that I hadn't actually tied up most of those loose ends I came to San Diego to take care of, but instead had created a newer, far more complicated thread, that I had no idea what to do with.
Instead of selling the car, I left it parked illegally in the same spot with a dead battery and a flooded engine. But in between this trip and my last I had learned a little something about which friends I could rely on to help me out and in what way. And I felt assured that I left it with good ones that would do what they could to ease my burden and make this irresponsibility of mine possible without resenting me for it.
The night of our going away party was the worst. We all knew that there was a chance, perhaps even a good chance, that Mike and Maria weren't coming back for a while. They had nothing calling them back to San Diego, or anywhere else for that matter. But that's not where I was. With each warm embrace and heartfelt goodbye I assured my friends that I would be back in 3 months, if only just to convince myself.
I was leaving San Diego and heading to India with a few particular goals in mind, open to the possibilities of what might happen, but closed to the notion of floating away. Expectations are crazy things because the reality of the world seldom plays out like you imagine. I learned that lesson first hand throughout my 3 weeks in San Diego. And I had to admit to myself that even before I left I was imagining how life would be like when I got back, letting my mind wander and dream about the possibilities, about how certain loose threads might be neatly tied up.
I was ok with that, because knowing where you're at, also means knowing which trajectory you're headed on and setting your intention for how you wish the world to play out. It's being open to the wonderfully amazing and unexpected opportunties that life throws your way and adjusting mid-stream that's the key. And if these last 3 weeks were any indication, I felt fully confident in my ability to sieze those moments and make the best of them.
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