Reflections.....

A week back in New York and my world as I know it has blown up and I am left picking up the smoldering, dismantled pieces. Ironically, prior to my departure, I asked for this, prayed to be challenged and pushed, to be forced to change my life. As expected, God responds and has rocked me to the very core. Spending the last week digesting the magnitude of the trip, I attempt to sort out my emotions and adjust back to America. To be honest, I am struggling, as I am so internally affected by India, by the culture and alternative means of living. Consequently, I am unable to resort back to my previous ways, for my perspective is inevitably altered, my eyes now wide open. Changes are eminent and I am slowly uncovering the depth of what I experienced on my incredible adventure. As my final blog entry, I reflect back on all the lessons I receive as a result of exploring India. Some are novel, never revealed to me prior to this journey. Others have been reoccurring, lessons I know all too well but may have lost sight of and in need of reminding. Regardless, I am touched profoundly, in ways never before witnessed and feel the intense responsibility to share with others what is transpiring within the depths of my soul.

The best decision of my life thus far is to leave the comfortably familiar and venture around the world. If New York is the center of the universe, then India is its pulsating heartbeat. Despite my limited travels, I am insanely, passionately, irrationally in love with this country. Triangularly jutting into the Indian Ocean, this is an energetic land of sensory overload. The steamy subcontinent of mountains, deserts and lush coastlines overflows with life. The vibrant people, manifesting truth in their eyes and joy in their hearts, are the most beautiful beings I have ever encountered. They are a more primitive society, valuing the simple things and enjoying each day's process. There is a palpable collective consciousness, not individualistic like much of the Western world, but energetic, alive and graceful. I feel their warmth and wisdom permeate the air. India is a scintillating array of food, festivals, and feelings layered with spice and sweat. As my henna designs fade, I struggle to keep my Indian spirit alive, dressing in brightly colored clothing and scarfs, wearing my bindi on the streets of Manhattan, sitting in my meditation room surrounded by new treasures. I am unable to resist eating with my hands, drinking Chai with my afternoon snack, and constantly prowling for Indian restaurants. When I am particularly homesick, I light my incense and play native music, transporting myself back to the hot, humid land of love, whose roots are embedded in the truth of our existence. I recall the overwhelming beauty that seeps into everything, for it is the most magical place of insurmountable spirit. I look forward with great anticipation to the day I return. I know with conviction that my origins lay embedded somewhere within the thick, rich Indian soil.

With a refreshed perspective, it is strikingly apparent that this world is in utter disarray, an asylum of politics, greed and misplaced priorities. We foolishly believe the causes of sufferings are external to the self, when in truth everything lies within and is available at any moment. The misery we experience is a result of missing ourselves, attention fixed on mistaken identities and self-limiting beliefs. We attempt to control every gesture, stifling and judging every impulse, alienating us farther away from our true nature. As a universal consciousness, we are disconnected from the scaredness of our own being. Stuck in disharmony is every emotion, thought and muscle. We must abandon all memory and imagination, our allegiance to the past and future, and remain rooted in the present. Every single human being is responsible for the mindless ignorance that pervades our world. We reside in absolute darkness, high on ego and possessions, unaware of reality. The problems prevail because we think we are separate, creating an oppressive and defensive environment, overflowing with disquietude and isolation. Allowing our heads rather than our hearts to lead, we miserably run crazed in absolute indecision and confusion. The mind is forever trying to control, redundant and dull with its patterns, rituals, routines. It believes itself and consequently, binds us down and shackles our spirits. The only real freedom is freedom from the mind, from suffocating conditions. We are the unknown and must learn to use the mind but never be used by the mind. I refuse to be mutilated by the majority. Truth is never the masses, it is the individual, the few and rare. The heart is always total without divisions. The whole of existence is divine. It is vital we try not to escape from situations, but rather become more aware, striving to be in the world and not a product of it. Uncover the latent good within. Begin to understand the spellbinding, mysterious self. Fall in tune with your soul and quench the craving for the real, impassioned connection with the divine. Do not miss the utterly rapturous gift of your being.

I understand more fully that Yoga is the way to overcome the mind and its limitations, not exclusively held to twisty poses and standing on my head, but rather the mystic union of the self. Developed by courageous people who denied blind faiths and the convenience of religions, yoga focuses on investigating the wantonness of my innermost being. It is a science of subjectivity, a means to understand my own nature in order to develop a strong foundation where all other relationships emerge. I am ready to become a wanderer of my consciousness, developing the discipline to be a free spirit. Self-examination through this practice will reveal my true essence. I am wiping off the layers of grime from my thoughts, impressions, and desires in order to live a simple and natural life, a creative life where individual growth is the focus. I understand it does not happen within relgions or universities, for these are prisons of morality followed out of fear. I realize no priest or Bible promise can help me attain the inner transformation I seek; rather, I must have trust and confidence in myself, for this journey is made alone. The real examination will be the universe itself. To succeed, I must remain sensitive, allowing myself to feel uncomfortable as I move away from the mind and closer to the heart. I am prepared for it to come to me and through me, letting the ego evaporate, with the intention of being unconcerned with ambitions and desires but instead saturated with love, peace, and emptiness. God speaking directly to me and the trust I have in that voice is my religion.

I am discovering my life passions and pursuits, my true purpose for this life. As a genuine creator, I am a vehicle possessed by the untamed forces of God. Work that is my love and prayer. Through it I find my being, as a mirror that reflects back. A passionate affair in which I gain absolute fulfillment, where my whole life is worship. Society may not pay so although I chance remaining poor, it is a risk worth taking because my inner riches will cascade forth from my core. I am unable to settle or make concessions, for whatever I feel to do, I must do. No one grants permission because living is free and accessible to everyone. We are given life but our responsibility is to create meaning out of it. Existence precedes essence for one organic unity. First, I must change my inner climate in order to become a infinite source of positive energy. That in effect will reach others by its own accord. My very energies will thus spread forth to all the world. Wherever I go, I bring that atmosphere with me.

I am aware that the most important thing is to be true to myself, to fall into my own being and listen to the inner voice that whispers, however quiet and muffled. I follow my instincts, whims, and whatever attracts me even if I am lead off the beaten path, for this is truly where life resides. I am undergoing a revolution of my heart, and in doing so, must remain rooted in myself. As much as I love travel, I understand that there is no where to go; I carry all that is necessary within at every moment. Allowing that which is hidden to be manifested, my deepest being flows through me . I am aready carrying the seed, we all are, albeit in need of the proper care and nourishment.

Traveling reveals to be fully alive, I accept the possibility of being lost, the uncertainty of the unknown, the discomfort and inconvenience of the unfamiliar. I will not remain paralyzed by fear. No one can insure my life. In our world, nothing is guaranteed. If it were, the thrill disappears; we stagnant and die. I can no longer pretend to be asleep. Life is beautiful because it is insecure, because there is death, because it can be missed. I am allowing myself to be enticed towards adventure, seduced into living dangerously and accepting the call of the unexplored. I am on the move, never anchored anywhere. I refuse to settle into security, comfort zones and safety nets. I will not be a part of the human dis-ease. My road and principles are not fixed beforehand. I am choosing to flow naturally; that will be my way.

And when I am able to live with my heart in charge and my soul leading the way, my life will become a love story. If I carry the light within, then there is no fear. Darkness can reign outside. Better to be cold and remain with truth than surrounded by lies and feel warmth. My light is sufficient; it illuminates my path. For I have within my being the inexhaustible sources of energy, the enduring and mysterious power of life. I am a seeker of truth, I follow no set path for this is not a journey, but a let-go. Unburdened by my past, unconcerned with my future, I experience the real and become a witness. Utterly drunk with God. I allow my heart to be the real source of my strength, overriding any situation, thought or belief. As long as I follow it in the effort to find the truth of life, then nothing can prevent it. Growth is a responsibility. Great courage is necessary. I must live an authentic life. Welcome to my heart.

The New York Noose

Over twenty-four hours of travel time, we land in New York. It is 7am in the morning, rainy and overcast. Not exactly the homecoming I am expecting, hoping that spring and warmth would welcome me. My parents pick me up, overjoyed and relieved, as we hug tightly, making up for lost time. They are amazed about my changed appearance, the golden tan and nose piercing, tattoo and bindi fixed upon my forehead. We share a car ride back to my apartment where I fill them in, gushing about the incredible events of the trip. It is so good to see my parents; they are what I missed the most.

After several difficult trips of carrying my suitcases up my five-story walk-up, I am left to unpack and settle in. I painstakingly go through everything, carefully uncovering all the treasures I have accumulated over the past month. Three hours later, I am ready to venture out to the grocery store to restock my kitchen. Up and down the aisles, I scour for anything resembling Indian food. I am repulsed by many of my old favorites and feel desperate to find the fruit, vegetables, spices and sauces that have become part of my daily diet. I spend a large part of the afternoon, rummaging up and down the aisles, spending an extended amount of time in the ethnic food section. I make some small joyous discoveries. Papaya and mangoes, lentils, shredded coconut and okra. I find packages of Indian spices to douse on vegetables and recipes to make Goan shrimp and chicken Tikka Masala. I feel like a child on Christmas morning with the array of goodies in my basket. That, however, is short lived when I reach the checkout counter and the cashier informs me that my bill is one hundred and thirty dollars for my measly two bags of groceries. I damn near fall down in shock. I did not pay that much for the entire MONTH of meals! There has to be some mistake. I am suddenly slapped with the stark reality of New York prices. I forgot momentarily how expensive this city is, how absurdly priced something as basic as food costs. I am certainly missing my wad of rupees right now.

After my makeshift meal of bananas, cashews and shredded coconut, I decide to take a walk through my neighborhood, reacquainting myself with the sights and smells. Every other time in my life, I have been happy to come back to the city after a vacation. Usually, I see the New York skyline and my heart leaps, for I know this is my home. Something has changed this trip. I do not feel the love I once had from this city. It is possible for it to return, as I am sure it will over time, but today, it seems cold, harsh and lonely. The foggy skies thicken everything, as I sense how depressed and unhappy people are here. I cannot find a friendly face as I stroll down Broadway. Barely anyone even makes eye contact, as all of my smiles go unnoticed. Occasionally, I feel judging eyes stare at me, questioning my new vibrant wardrobe and Indian jewelry. I am unphased, as I intend to keep the internal bond I have made to Mother India.

Traveling offers an amazing perspective. Being away for a month, I gain so much clarity about how we, as Americans live. I ride the subways and witness the mindlessness of this place, the lack of human contact, lack of empathy. More than half the train is entranced with his or her cell phone, blackberry or ipod. Everyone in their own head, absorbed with thoughts, not present and lacking any awareness of surroundings and others. I feel like I am in a crowd of robots, half dead and dying slowly. We live in such an unnatural environment, trees replaced by steel rods of buildings. Under too much stress and priorities asked, it is no wonder misery pervades. Americans think they have problems here, which I am sure many of them do. I am not trying to diminish the strife anyone experiences in life. But back in India, most people are concerned with survival, basic needs of shelter and clothing and their next meal. Many of them have no more than the shirt on their back but they exhibit more happiness than the millionaires that run this city. Before leaving for this trip, I was one of them. Concerned with the pettiness of my simple life, thinking my problems are gargantuan when really they pale in comparison to most of the outside world. I always knew how fortunate I was, to be born in this country, to have the freedom and monetary means to live as I please. But now, it rings true even more so than ever.

A few days and already I feel the New York City noose tighten around my neck. I am fighting to keep my free spirit alive and kicking, not burdened down by the weight of Western mentality. I am focusing on being rather than doing, attempting to avoid the rushing, crazy energy of this place. I take solace in the newly decorated peace room, where I retreat whenever I feel strangled by the city.

I know that I have a choice on how to live. I can easily slip back into the rat race, focusing on how many hours I need to work and how much money there is to be made. Or I can live more naturally, more creative and in-tune, taking time to meditate or walk in the park or write a poem. I do not have to live in my self-contained, self-absorbed bubble of existence. I can take a minute to smile at a passer-by, to slow down my walking pace, to really enjoy the simpler things in life.

It's in the bag!

I was warned before arriving not to over pack, to bring only a few things that were absolutely necessary. But of course, my city girl instincts insisted that I pack an abundance of cute outfits with matching jewelry, shoes and bags. I did, however, bring a half-filled suitcase, at Sebastian's advice, for he knew that I would shop and need extra room to bring back all my purchases. Little did I know how much I would actually buy! When it came to packing, I was in a world of trouble. I had mounds of stuff but no way to get it home. Our first attempt, I packed up a huge cardboard box and went to the post office to try and send it. Over a hundred dollars and a two-week wait helped me decide otherwise. Alice Auntie made countless phone calls to the Air India in the hopes to find out the permitted number of bags and weight allowances. Inevitably, it was one hundred and twenty five dollars for each additional bag and a fifty-dollar charge if over the weight limit. After hours of strategic planning, when all my stuff was eventually packed, I unfortunately had three suitcases, one large box, one stuffed duffel bag and one extremely heavy backpack. Trying to just fit all of our bags in the car was a feat, having to sit on Sebastian's lap because the baggage was stuffed into the trunk and wedged onto the seats.

I was forced to check two extra bags and Sebastian had to pay for one extra heavy suitcase. In total, we spent three hundred dollars just to get our belongings to New York. For all the money I saved on the great deals and bargains, I spent at the airport on their exorbitant fees. I know better for next time. Bring much less clothes and accessories, for all the more room to load up on Indian goods!

Family Ties

Despite the five states we cross, through all of the adventures of traveling and exploring, as well as all the diverse people we encounter, the best moments of the entire trip occur in the quiet comfort and warmth of Sebastian's grandmother's home. What a gift to have such a unique opportunity to live in a true native's house and experience day-to-day living. Though Ammachi is Malayalam for mother, it is the name Sebastian and his family call their maternal grandmother. Advancing in age, I feel thankful to meet her. Our very first encounter is quite comical, as she motions for me to kneel down next to her chair face to face, so she can get a good look at me. With a slight shrug of the shoulders, she tells Sebastian, "not bad." We all laugh and I come to know this very funny, endearing matriarch. Standing slightly slumped, with a rounded upper back, Ammachi is a strikingly beautiful woman, with burnt chestnut skin that maintains it's youthful glow, especially in her rounded, cherub cheeks. She usually dresses in a long white nightgown with delicate flowers adorned throughout, although on special occasions she chooses from her extensive collection of saris. Her smile, however infrequent, warms the room and infects all that surround her. She has a missing tooth on the right side of her mouth, further augmenting her character. Ammachi's hair is silvery gray, streaked with white highlights, shoulder length with gentle waves. She usually wears it pulled back in a low ponytail, which to me resembles the tail of a cute little dog. My favorite feature is her eyes, big and bright, that speak volumes of wisdom and truth and experience. Her life can be seen through the chocolate brown irises, a life of love and family. Speaking in broken English, I make out a few words but mostly relay on other family members to translate. She says the Rosary five times a day, a faith that both amazes and inspires, as I feel her depth and conviction. Ammachi has two favorite television programs she watches, daily Mass and Animal Planet, sitting on her couch, feet raised, with a giant pair of headphones on, resembling more of a hip-hop DJ than a grandmother. I cannot help but laugh every time I see her with the gigantic black headset on. She has a specific routine for meals, using a large silver plate with different compartments so she can keep her food in separate piles. Next to the plate, she keeps a small tray, filled with curry leaves she picks out of the different dishes and small pieces of mango pickle. Occasionally, she belches, loud and proud, and we all get a good chuckle from her lack of inhibition. She wears a simple pair of studded earrings, a long gold chain, one bracelet and one watch, which she takes off at mealtimes. Although in need of assistance to move around the house, she only allows one of her daughters to help and refuses the offers from Sebastian and I. As the month progresses, I feel myself growing closer to this woman, my connection to Sebastian's origin, as I accept and transform deeper into the Indian culture. After every shopping venture, I am excited to return home and show her all my authentic purchases. I am happy she notices my bangles, my henna, and my jingling anklet. She approves of my nose ring and likes that I clean my plate after every meal. We do not have much physical contact, except on the last day, when she affectionately touches my hair, not realizing she is actually touching my heart.

Ammachi's house reflects the cordiality and love that emanates from her being. Large and spacious, it has high ceilings, numerous windows for allowing in the natural light, and a functional yet classy design. Creamy ivory with brown accents of the outside, the house sits at the top of a short, rocky driveway, pass a beautifully ornate iron gate. There is a front porch with two wicker chairs and a table, where Ammachi sits and reads the paper, snacking on some fresh, local fruit. A back porch overlooks the small but dazzling garden, abounding with green trees and plants, a cage with an array of colorful birds, a house for the watchdog, Chikku, the black Labrador. The most perfect seat is the rocking chair, off to the corner that overlooks the entire space. I spend many an afternoon, rocking, contemplating and observing life in the garden. The interior walls are rosy pink, accented with mauve marble floors and cherry wood red furniture. Four bedrooms, each with its own bathroom allow for plenty of personal space and privacy. There is a communal living room, and eat-in kitchen where we share all the meals, as well as a side kitchen where the food is masterfully prepared. My favorite feature of the house is the large square skylight that hangs over a stone surrounded pond full of coy fish. Because the skylight remains open, when it rains,it streams through the two-story house and splashes on the water's surface. I also love the rooftop, perfect for tanning since it gets the full force of the Indian sun with little cover or protection. It is a welcoming house, allowing me to feel as ease and at home , making for a very smooth, easy transition from New York.










During my month stay, I also become very well acquainted with Alice Auntie, Sebastian's mother's sister. What strikes me the most about this woman is her beauty, the roundness of her face of crisp sienna skin and full rosy cheeks. She has long, thick black hair, usually worn pulled back in a low bun. Alice Auntie also has beautiful eyes, richly dark and inviting, a feature that welcomes and pulls me in. She has a mole on the right side of her nose, a characteristic that amplifies her beauty. Her smile, big and bright, has the power to uplift spirits and infect all those around her, something of which I am most attracted. She wears colorful Indian salvar kameezes, draped to the knee and a loose pair of complimentary pants. Simple, good jewelry adorn her neck and wrists, as well as a circular pair of stud earrings. The best thing about Alice Auntie is her laugh, her humor, how after something funny is said, she falls back into her chair in a belly laugh, hands drawn to cover her mouth, crackling like a young school-age girl. Her laugh is absolutely infectious; every time I hear it, I break out into hysterics. Additionally, she is a multitalented woman. I have tasted her exquisite cooking, seen her bargain with stubborn salesmen, care for her mother with such ease and grace, make her own jewelry, sew her own clothes, and share so much knowledge about this country. Similar to myself, Alice Auntie is always hungry, nibbling on some tasty snack that she delivers up to our bedrooms. Just like my own mother, she holds my hand during the nose piercing and reminds me always to wash my hands before meals. Paying close attention to detail, she notices my Indian transformation, complimenting my outfits and matching jewelry. Her generosity touches me, surprising me with little gifts or treating us to a good meal. She has a relaxed, calm energy so that nothing disturbs her peace of mind. Something about her reminds me of an angel. I think it may be her big, open heart.



Chandran, Ammachi's driver, is particularly one of my favorite people I meet on this trip. My first real non-family Indian I encounter, I am taken back by his eagerness to please. A small man within his miniature frame, Chandran's kindness has no bounds. He wears a short sleeve, light colored button down shirt over a plain white mundu, usually worn to his feet. His shoes are open sandals and he wears a watch on his left arm, with the dial underneath his wrist, rather than on top. He has tan, shiny skin on his elongated face, pronounced more so by his receding hairline which forms a bushel of curls at the base of his neck and a thick beard around his face. His eyes remind me of a child, sweet and innocent, while his nose resembles that of a parrot beak. His grin is goofy and friendly, revealing a mouthful of different color and oddly shaped teeth. Chandran is a master at the infamous Indian head wiggle, a gesture of greeting, acknowledgment, and acceptance. I learn this skill by first observing and then mimicking him. He is forever scurrying about, jumping into action before hearing the full set of instructions. There is a slight nervous energy about him, mostly from his desire to do his work well and fast. When he speaks, Chandran raises his left arm and rotates his wrist, as if unscrewing a light bulb. I am unaware as to why he does this, but nevertheless it is quite endearing. I am flattered and happy when he calls me Madame, when he opens the car door for me every single time we venture out, and when he happily acknowledges the my internal change taking place. I always opt to sit in the front seat next to him, an unusual choice in this country but I do not concern myself with divisions between the server and served. I enjoy watching him drive, careful attention to making the sure the car as well as the passengers are safe. He is usually unsure of the routes and we get lost quite a few times, but through his unyielding efforts, perseverance, and countless stops to ask for directions, we always arrive to our destination. Any time he is picking us up, he appears out of nowhere as soon as we are ready to live, scampering quickly to the parked silver Ambassador, eagerly awaiting our return. It is obvious he has a heart of gold, as well as immense respect and love for Ammachi and her family.

Lastly, however the minimal interaction, I must acknowledge Kumari, Ammachi's personal cook, as well as Mollymanti and Kuttichenuncle, Sebastian's other aunt and uncle. Mostly the anonymous presence in the cooking kitchen, Kumari consistently prepares the most delicious foods I eat in India. The range and variety of ingredients, spices, and creativity blows me away at every meal. We have difficulty communicating due to the language barrier, but I feel a connection to her nevertheless. Very unassuming and reserved, she keeps her place in the kitchen, preparing recipes that she learned firsthand from Ammachi. Dressed always in a traditional sari, usually in white and with a back dot perfectly centered on her forehead, there is grace and beauty in her face. I sense she has lived somewhat of a difficult life or something burdens her soul, but I am unable to determine what. She has the most beautiful smile, especially when I fumble in Malayalam to tell her how much I enjoy her cooking. I usually display my squeaky clean plate as evidence.

Mollymanti, Alice Auntie's older sister, is the leader of the group and responsible for designing Ammachi's lovely home. Now retired, Mollymanti and Kuttichenuncle spend half the year in India and half in the states, visiting their grandchildren. In doing so, she knows all the best local places in Trivandrum to obtain whatever we request, from fabric stores to train tickets to piercings. Though our time together is fleeting, I am impressed by how well she runs the household and keeps everyone and everything running smoothly. Kuttichenuncle, Mollymanti's husband, is the most soft-spoken man I ever met, at times barely audible. As a former doctor and avid reader, he is a man of great knowledge and wisdom. What sticks out the most, what I recall with most clarity is the gentleness of his eyes, the softness of his demeanor as though he is a big, lovable teddy bear. He walks daily and practices yoga, something I would have liked to do with him if time permitted. Both Mollymanti and Kuttichenuncle left within the first several days of our arrival, but I do wish we had the opportunity to spend more time to get to know each other better.

For the month, these people become my family, with whom I feel safe, accepted and loved. Feelings of being homesick are not present, for my new family surrounds me here. I feel so fortunate to be a part of such a big circle of love, to be included as an outsider and treated like an insider. Not for one moment do I feel awkward or uncomfortable; rather, I feel at ease, welcomed, and at home. When I reflect back on India, I will take the most solace in the moments I spend with Ammachi and her crew, in the countless meals shared over the kitchen table, laughing while eating mounds of Kumari's cooking in our hands. I will never forget the afternoons, when lunch is full in our bellies, when the house is peacefully quiet, each of us retired to our own respective rooms for a short nap before coffee and snacks. When I think of India, this will be in the forefront of my mind. I have been given such a rare opportunity, such an incredible gift to live in Ammachi home, to know her and Alice Auntie on a more personal, deeper level, and to experience Keralian life as close to as native as possible. I am saddened to leave this place, to depart from my new family, having to give up living in such a beautiful home. I know I will be back. In my bones, I know it.