The Universe is Big

what a crazy omlette

this city is unreal.
‘36 years ago, there was nothing. just sand. just desert.’
what was it like when you got here?
‘i lived in small villa with my husband. we drink chai. i take care of baby and learn arabic.’
that sounds intense.
‘it was boring. i decide to start business instead.’
what is it like seeing how the city has grown in such a short time?
‘the sheiks here, they have money and they are not afraid to spend it.’

i’ve been spending a lot of time with a croatian hairdresser named ivana during my time in abu-dhabi, whom julia and i met during the workshops. she’s taken us for coffee at the emirates palace, helped to arrange horse riding lessons at the equestrian club, set up a desert safari,  and took us out salsa dancing at club zenith. the emirates palace is a seven-star luxury hotel (with modest rooms beginning at $3000aed/$1000us a night), the coffee was dusted with gold flakes, the horses are the finest arabian horses available, and the salsa lessons were… well, just regular ol’ salsa lessons.

it’s hard to paint a realistic picture of this place. the paints seem to all be mislabeled, the brushes either too fine or too soft, and the canvas has been stretched very tight across the frame.

after a full morning of giving treatments, ivana took us on a tour of the city which entailed either the execution or planning of the aforementioned activities. at around 2pm, our capacities for tourism were maxed out, so we had her drop us off at the marina so we could relax on our friend gavin’s boat. basking in the sun, i blissfully allowed my brain to shut off. it did.

at this point i realized that i have four different types of currency in my wallet: indian rupees, euros, us dollars, and dirhams. where the hell am i?

i opened my eyes to a skyful of blue, across which a mast with sails drawn gently rocked. the boat gently creaked against it’s moorings. in the distance, jet skis soared across blue crystal-smooth waters. the workers on the neighboring yacht played poker in the shade on the dock. a seagull lazily cawed, presumably to another seagull socialite about the quality of the caviar offered at a nearby seaside shisha bar. next to me, a sleeping monkey stirred.

it was all too real, so strangely familiar yet remarkably foreign. with traces of indian dust still deeply ingrained under my fingernails, i’ve got the pearly sand of arabian nights breezing silk between my toes. i need reference. i need to check in. i need something to help bring me back to and ground me down firmly through my roots.

i need to go to the mall.

growing up on long island, one could easily hear that statement a few times daily. my culture was commerce, my peasant foods were a selection of ‘international delicacies’ from the food court. the native long islander dress was a selection of clothing from stores like abercrombie & fitch, guess, pacific sunwear, and j. crew. like an episode of lost, i escaped the island only to lose my mind somewhere between the ebb and flow of the present and the past. i needed to reconnect with a constant between the two.

the marina mall is one of the larger malls in abu-dhabi, and is aptly named due to the close proximity to the marina where our boat was parked. by close, i mean five minutes. walking. slowly. which is exactly what i did. the parking lot was filled with a variety  large and/or fast cars, which allowed for the walk to be engagingly slow. i entered the mall through a large circular revolving door, escaping the hot desert sun into the air-conditioned kiss of marbled architecture. so much for cultural constants.

earlier in the day, when we walked around the emirates palace– the extremely expensive hotel built by the late sheik zayed–i observed a feeling that i was walking around a casino in vegas. the only difference, and an extremely large on at that, was in the type of people who were walking around with me. one is hard pressed to find a truly quiet spot in las vegas while walking around the cavernous hallways and thoroughfares both inside and connecting the casinos. you can wander aimlessly among the garish and the ornate, be it the level of decor or type of personality. no expense is spared to simulate an experience of authenticity.

and that’s just it. whereas a place like vegas simulates the experience of authenticity for anyone who can afford a ticket to ride, abu-dhabi is home for those who live the real thing. this is no simulation of luxury, it is the authentic experience. despite this, barring the skyrocketing price of reali estate, living in abu-dhabi is surprisingly amenable to the traveling yogi’s pocket. the dirham (or the euro or rupee or dollar) goes pretty far here. walking around the mall, i started to breathe a little easier as i perused comfortably repulsive storefronts like accessorize!, radio shack, baskin’ robins, the gap, and starbucks. the halls were just as sparely populated as those in the emirates palace, yet the design was remarkably similar with regard to attention to detail.

whoever built this city did not do it on rock and roll. artisans have been chartered. even in its most excessive parts, abu-dhabi retains a sense of style and taste. of course, much like my own appreciation for where i come from, i don’t necessarily always agree with whoever’s style and taste it is.

‘the sheik. he want to build city. so he build city, build break water, push back beach. the road we drive on? this was not here two years ago.’
julia: ‘where did he get all of the trees from? these are old trees.’
‘he buy them and fly them in. he had a vision.’
he definitely did.
‘the sheik, he said he wants bird. so he buys three or four million birds and let’s them loose.’
why not?
‘the birds shit everwhere. people complain. so the sheik, he buys cats. the birds disappear.’
naturally. sounds like a good solution to me.
no. the cats, they get sick. start to die. the people complain. so they burn them.’
the cats?
yes, they collect the cats and burn them.
we have a saying in america: you can’t make an omlette without breaking some eggs.
’so?’
sounds like a few eggs were broken when the sheik was building his dream.
‘what a crazy omlette.’
agreed.

they funny part is that once i begin to comprehend the level of fantasy vs. fantastic reality of my current surroundings, i check cnn for news back in the states to find out completely ridiculous events like THIS which beg the question, “which society is stranger– the west or the middle east?”

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frantically grabbing for cultural context

typing. typing. typing… pause. hmmm.
click, drag, delete.
typing, typing, typing…. pause. sigh.
click, drag, delete.
somewhat frustrated tap-tap-tapping…
backspaceBACKSPACEBACKSPACE
pause. staring off at the wall.

crack knuckles.
deep breath.

abu-dhabi is surreal, and i’m somewhat at a loss on where to begin to explain how. let’s start with the obvious:

-there are palaces everywhere. by palace, i’m referring to full-on castle-like complexes, complete with minarets, crenelated parapets, and barbicans.

-men wear dishdashah and women wear abaya.

-everyone drives large and/or fast cars.

-you will hear hear the salaah five times a day, no matter where you are.

-the standard beverage can here utilizes pull-tab technology instead of the standard ring pull tab in the west.

-on a good day, it’s hot and sunny. on a bad one, it is oppressively hot and sunny, not to mention windy and dusty. and humid. in the shade.

-the weekend here is friday and saturday. this means that sundays are the new monday, and thursdays are the new friday, except that its not new at all. it is now monday, and i have no clue what that means other than tonight is chili night at my friend’s house… yay!

-gas is cheap, and by cheap, i mean 15 years ago cheap. 99cents a gallon cheap. this is most likely why everyone is inclined to drive large and/or fast cars.

-people park their large and/or fast cars everywhere, with little regard for anyone or thing else. parking lots are huge, overpacked, and completely ineffective.

-physical contact between men and women is somewhat of a no-no. up until recently, it was a major no-no, but now it seems o.k. to touch hands in public, although i feel that i might go to jail if anyone catches julia and i holding hands. we joke about that, but deep down it’s a little unsettling.

overall, abu-dhabi is a mix of las vegas, fort lauderdale, and long island, resulting in a strange mix of familiarity and foreign displacement. we have been incredibly well-received by the yoga community here, and our friends who are hosting us have been very warm and accomodating. of course, this has also been in a very surreal fashion.

saturday was a perfect example. after a full day of successful workshops, we all went sailing around the arabian gulf on a 50ft boat. we swam, rode the jet ski, flew on the bow and barbequed as a golden sun dipped below a glowing horizon artfully dotted by palm-trees and, you guessed it, palaces. taking it’s place was a brilliant shiva moon dotted with the cyclops eye of venus. we had satelite internet. i chatted with one of my best men, ehren, over skype. he enthusicastically showed me his new office. i excitedly described to him the current state of affiars.

all of this would be pretty mind-blowing were i to arrive here from anywhere in europe or the states. to make the jump from india to the middle east, however, has left me frantically grabbing for cultural context as the whirlwind tour continues to slide across the globe. we’ll be here for the next two weeks before heading to dubai for another weekend of workshops. i’m still trying to both climatize to both the weather and the culture, and presume that this may take a few more days before i can truely begin to process and relate what the heck is going on over here.

overall, it should be noted that spirits are (very) high and that we’re extremely busy catching up on all sorts of admin work for the rest of the tour, planning a wedding or two for the summer, giving private treatments and personal trainings, and that last night i was in my first motorcyle stop-light road race. even though i was just a passenger and that it lasted no longer than one city block, we won as a result of going incredibly fast.*

surreal or otherwise, i gotta say that i like it here.

*yes, mom, i was wearing a helmet.

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so up it went, the box on my head, and we took off down the road

i work up on a chilly 3AC sleeper car on the rajadhani express train from new delhi to mumbai with an extremely dry mouth to the rumble of distressed intestines. glancing at my cellphone, my tired eyes informed me that it was 7am. already the train car was coming to life– most likely it had been for quite some time. babies were crying, teeth were being brushed, the all-too-familiar cookie monster rattle of the roving chaiwallahs peddling their wares (”chaichaichai! ch-aiiiiiwallahCHAI!!”) echoed across waking ears, almost giving match to the rattling snores of sleeping indian giants still haunting my return to consciousness.

wading through this symphony of awakening, i made my way to the toilets to brush my teeth and humor the tympanic borborygmus of my lower abdominals. exiting the ac cab into the velvet bath of a humid south indian morning, i arrived just in time to see a woman unsuccessfully attempt to help her two-year old daughter relieve herself in the public sink where i, and so many other riders on the train, were to wash their face and brush their teeth. the little girl, however, hit with alarming accuracy a large urn of chai waiting to be served and two stacks of paper cups in which to serve it.

the mother looked up. we met eyes. she smiled and slowly hoverered her daughter in such a way to finally direct most her stream into the aluminum basin.

i did not smile back. instead, i calmly continued passed this mess into the next car, where i swooped into the indian style bathroom to process and reflect. a marquee flashed brightly across the backs of my eyelids as i prepared to play intestinal russian roulette.

fuck this place, it read. i’m out.

india is dirty. and loud. and at many times caustic. the mother giveth and taketh away with great impunity, yet loves and nurtures with such devotion. it takes time and gives it back. when it’s easy, it’s never very easy, and when it isn’t, it can feel downright impossible. my last day in india started with such honest reality– pissing in a cup and calling it chai– and would only promise to become even more culturally exciting.

our train arrived at 8:30am, and we arrived at our friend ania’s apartment complex about 30 minutes later. i have fond memories of this place. aside from the fact that julia and i decided to get married there, we also have taken to blowing the minds of the guards at the front gate every time we enter and exit. in addition to signing the guest register every time with an extremely humorous name, they always seemed so impressed by the sheer amount of stuff we’d be carrying with us. last time we were there, we passed by them about 8 times carrying two backpacks each in one day. today was no different.

after settling in and showering, we began the arduous process of choosing which items to take with us for the next three months as we travel across the middle east and europe, and which to mail back home to germany. this took a few hours, as we also spent a great deal of time catching up on email and chatting with friends on the internet (a commodity which has been in short supply as of late). at 2pm, we packed up two duffels of things we wanted to mail back and left the complex yet again, most likely to the extreme curiosity of our new friends, the gate guards.

we walked right by the post office the first time because it looked closed. upon retracing our steps, we found that it was, in fact, in the process of closing down for the day. at 2:10pm. we were informed to go to one of the main branches in dadar, a neighborhood 15 minutes away by taxi. we opted to try our luck at a parcel courier service a kilometer or two down the road before pursuing that route.

on the way to the courier we had seen before, we passed another agency and decided to try our luck. they were all to happy to send our package to germany. we unloaded our bags into an empty box and weighed it: 20kg.

how much to send package, baba?
‘checking, checking. please sit.’
no, i’ll stand, thank you.
‘15,365 rupees, sir.’
thank you, we’ll pass. how much for the box?
‘50 rupees.’
really? how about 10? i find better one in trash, where you found it. (yes, my grammar is simple on purpose).
‘no, 50.’
unpack the box.
‘why?’
because no matter how greedy you are, i can be more proud than you ever will. have much experience.
‘ok, then. please accept box as my gift.’
thank you.

he offered me the box on the gamble that i wouldn’t want to walk out of the office lugging almost 45 lbs of assorted blah down a busy mumbai street on an extremely humid day. he was wrong. some people try their hand at immersing themselves into local culture by taking classes as introductions to native life. julia, for instance, took a couple of really nice cooking classes while in rishikesh. i, on the other hand, wanted to see what it was like to be a cooley in india for a day.

so up it went, the box on my head, and we took off down the road.

we finally reached our preferred courier location. the best price he could do was 7500. this man worked hard, and we really liked him. the fact of the matter was that we should have to pay no higher than 3500 tops. at this point in the game, no amount of respect could best that great divide. he was extremely helpful on directing us to another, more centrally located main post office branch in a neighborhood we wanted to be in later.

so up it went, the box on my head, and we took off down the road.

on the way, i crossed paths with a fellow journeyman. we locked eyes for a moment in silent alliance. fuck this place, i read. i want out.

i was inclined to disagree, as i was having fun. we moved on.

most likely never to cross paths again.

we hopped a train at currey road to mumbai c.s.t . one bottle of water, one veg sandwich later, and a smattering of hopeful directions, we went seeking for the nearby post office. when a westerner carries a 20kg parcel on their head down an extremely busy street in downtown bombay like a woman selling fruit on the sandy beaches of goa, understandably one will receive a great deal of attention. occasionally, i felt twinge of sheepishness where i wanted to lower my head to ignore the staring eyes, catcalls, and constant observation of prying indian eyes. the great part of bearing such a load is that lowering one’s head is not an option. one must ground down to lift up. all of my headstand and inversion work was to pay off today.

so up it went, the box on my head, and we took off down the road.
we arrived at samrat, the indian version of the golden corral’s child with a brazilian curriscaria, sat down and order two thalis. ‘no sir, i am sorry. no thalis until 7pm.’ of course, why not? may i leave my box here while we walk around?’oh no sir, i am sorry. you must take box with you.’ gladly.

one amazing decadent thali later, we headed home. catching the local commuter railway at churchgate station, we got off at lower parel, and made our way back to ania’s house. on the way home, i stopped off for a quick shave. i ended up staying for quite a long one.

i told him politely to ‘just stop. don’t touch the hair’, when he plugged in his crimping iron and took out the hot oil to treat my hair. the guy wanted to give me a perm. no joke. he then tried to charge me 200 rupee for the 15 rupee shave i sat down for. i offered him 50 and told him i want change. in front of our perpetual crowd of indian men, he took my bill and handed me two tens. we were both happy. and in returning home, our friends– the guards– were happy to receive us.

it’s been one hell of a last day in india.  i’ve got about 2 hours of sleep ahead of me before we make out way to the airport to catch a plane to the emirates. am i ready to go? oh yes. very much. will i ever come back? definitely. i can’t seem to get enough, even if my day starts out raining piss when all i wanted was a chai and ends with the coolest shave ever.

and i’m out.

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heralded by sunshine and roses

like a pond, i reflect. stillness on the surface, while below the countless orchestras of life swarm aria, after aria, after aira. drop a stone to slide ripples across the seemingly seamless surface, where– given the right circumstances– tiny waves can easily grow tidal. here it goes again, that familiar energy which tap-tap-taps on the stained glass picture of the soul. thoughts and emotions that have waited until
the right nightfall have emerged from the brush to throwing tiny rocks– images wrapped around words– at a window far-off with incredulous precision. each hit echoes a reminder…

it’s time. time to write. and reflect. there is fire under the kettle, and a rolling boil for quite some time. there are leaves resting in teacups and steam waiting to whistle.

chai, anyone?

so often i ask myself, in one form or another, a variation of the question ‘what the hell i am doing with my life?’ so often, the answer both reassures and surprises. this question does not reflect fear or doubt about a choosen path. instead, it serves to illuminate and support the steps taken. to be sure, these
steps are not all heralded by sunshine and roses. there are challenges. there is pain. there has been plenty of opportunity for misery to preside.

by the same token, there have been an equal number of opportunities to excel, embrace, and expand, to welcome abundance across the board– love, light, success. you name it, it’s there. in a world full of
magicians– some good, some bad, yet all magicians nonetheless– one can either learn new tricks or continually study the old ones. either way, it is up to the individual to decide if they believe in their own act or simply believe they can convince others to.

rishikesh proper is not unlike most smallish-to-midsized indian cities, replete with the honk and circumstance of balancing on the edge between the first- and third-world. you’ve got shops galore, rickshaws and taxis weaving traffic tapestries with deadly accuracy, and a fine layer of
dust to make sure everything is only as bright as it is meant to be. it only takes 5 rupees to leave that behind, to hop a shared rickshaw for the quiet mountain- and riverside villages of ram juhla and laxman
juhla, named after the footbridges that span across the rushing glacial flow of the ganges. the holy river, the lifeblood of india winds through the temperate rainforest of the himalyan foothills, cutting a blue-green swath which perfectly balances the cloudless sky and untouched countryside.

i immediately fell in love with rishikesh. it’s quiet, yet not too far from the reality of the country it’s part of. dozens of classes are offered to those seeking to expandtheir cooking skills, their yoga knowledge, their ability to read palms, figure out their vedic astrological star chart, or to build a harmonium,
among other things. oneis never too far away from a delicious cup of chai, a cow rooting around
for a tasty morsel, a monkey trying to steal one, or a saddus observing the whole situation while greeting you with ‘hare OM!’

we stayed in an ashram that could most likely be seen from the upper reaches of the atmosphere. imagine a minimum-security prison. paint it bright orange, white, and blue. liberally decorate with hand-crafted
statues depicting the entire pantheon of hindu gods and goddess. this technicolor dreamcoat overlooked the stoic majesty of the ganges, and we celebrated our apprecition for 360 of vibrance by practicing daily on the white marble ghat between the ashram and the rocky shores.

opportunity surrounds us in a multitude of flavors, and feeds strongly into my belief of luck. good luck, as i’ve come to believe, is just an opportunity realized and often a result of a positive effort in some
direction. call it karma, call it whatever you want. there is no difference in finding a sack full of money on the street than being struck by lightning if one removes all preconceived notions of consequence governed by an idea of ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

reality is much more than our perception of it. abstract ideas are made even more abstract when we try to describe and understand them with self-created things called ‘words’. my respect deepens for as i’m
continually blessed by an ability to travel, connect, and create, yet i continually find myself struggling with being able tosatisfying a desire to fully communicate the experience. hence, teakettles whistle and pebbles wrap on windowpanes like two lovers strumming on each other’s heartstrings: eloquently, deliberately, and passionately.

by walking around, one can easily understand how rishikesh is seen as one of india’s holiest cities. the scenery touches one with an almost electric awareness, the soft radio hum of putting a wool sweater on
during a dry, cool day. you feel it in your hair, on your skin, with each step; the energy of the landscape charges and recharges.

i’ve developed a love-hate relationship with my camera. when i first came to india, which by my estimation was about 7000 years ago (i think), there were two cameras in tow. one was a rather nice digital slr and the other a purportedly indestructible point-and-shoot. a goan bandit freed me from a need to worry about carrying the rather bulky slr, and allowed me to deepen my relationship with the olympus. it can take an olympic amount of abuse. submerge it underwater, drop it from a scooter driving 40km/hr, expose it to open flame… it doesn’t matter. it will still work as well as it did right out of the box. the only
catch is that it kinda sucked right out of the box. for the most part, it takes lackluster pictures and is rendered almost completely useless in low-light conditions. every so often, however, if the sun is right
(not to mention the moon, mercury, the tides, and the price of tea in china), it completely redeems itself with the occasional staggeringly amazing snapshot.

one cannot plan this, though, so one has to take matters into their own hands… or place them into the hands of someone else more capable. enter alon and leah, an isralei couple on the first leg of an extended
5-month journey through india and an even longer ride around the world. my kind of people. alon had a nice camera. julia asked him if he’d be interested in taking some pictures. after the first two people i asked
politely, if not somewhat alarmingly, declined, i decided to send the cute german monkey in to do a lion’s job. it totally worked. not only did we scored some amazing shots, but we initated two more advocates
into the phoenix flow.

what the hell am i doing with my life? i’ve just spent four months in india, studying yoga and sharing my understanding of it. in two days i’ll be in abu-dhabi to begin yet another lap around a large part of the
globe. i still haven’t worked out a viable answer for health insurance other than marrying a german national. my mother said that i’m being slightly audited by the irs- only slightly, mind you, for the sum of
$110us. were i to care to continue on by looking close enough, the list could grow.

obviously, the circumstances beg to question the current state of affairs. so far, the answer still remains glaringly positive. i’m celebrating. there is much to be thankfulfor, and i intend to appreciate. even when things start to burn, as my wise friend gene puts it, the fire works like a kiln to strengthen the clay.

it was an incredibly well-timed comment, gene, especially after my long day in hardiwar to observe shivaratri, the birthday of arguably india’s most revered deity. there were marching bands, fireworks, screaming, chanting, screaming chants, dancing in the streets, and beggars exercising their right to choose… and we had barely just eaten lunch. once the sun fell low behind the dilapidated stucco skyline, thousands of observants gathered on the banks of the ganges for the gangaarti, offering puja while bathing in the holy waters to wash away sin.

there was fire everywhere. bellowing from multi-necked oil lamps, twirled through the air by monks. bore by children on silver platters to receive donations amid gentle crowds of saris, headwraps, and bushy
mustaches. riding the eager current rush of frigid gray water on a raft made of leaves and full of colorful flowers. in the eyes of everyone who looked on. in the hearts of those touched. in the minds of those present.

that night, at the train station, i met the indian equivalent of rodney dangerfield. he never really looked me in the eyes, nor seemed to take himself or the conversationseriously. his name was rahul, and he certianly had a lot of self-deprecating opinions about india. he spoke of the dirt, the
loudness, the clutter, the strange customs in a both a serious and joking way. i wasn’t sure if he was speaking with me or for me, perhaps trying to humor a certain degree of unspoken or unacknowledged disdain for certain parts of india.

i thought a lot about rahul that night. then i fell asleep. the next morning, en route from old delhi to new delhi tran station, i had my luggage searched by a solider in theindian army who told me that “my hairstyle is beautiful.” julia has been braiding my lion’s mane into cornrolls, and according to certain people, i look like a white ludachris when this happens. at other times, especially when i sit with
my legs crossed while drinking chai at the dream cafe in ram juhla, old indian men seem to think that i “look like mighty lord shiva. om namah shivaya!”

exactly what the hell am i doing with my life? quite simply, and without a seed of doubt, i am happily living it, aria after aria after aria.

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i liked the milk so much that i bought the cow

and, uh… hey, dad, you should really look more into what i just did, about vipassana.
“you know what, scott? you’ve given me way too much to process in one conversation.”
true. i’ll hit you back about that later, i guess.
“give my best to my daughter, then.”
will do, pops.

i’ll give her my best, as well as my worst and my in-between. i’ll give her my everything and she’ll give me hers back. if all that works out– and i highly believe it will– then we’ll really be able to get down to business. deciding to get married is only the first step on yet another long journey towards infinity, even if it changes absolutely nothing between the two parties involved.

so you may ask: “and why, then, marriage?”
and i may say: why not?

part of me thinks it’s just a title, a name, which is wholly unnecessary between two lovers who are completely satisfied with their relationship. this is the case between julia and i. another part of me sees marriage as an institution that helps everyone else understand the seriousness of a couple’s bond, as well as to test its strength. we love each other so much that we got married. oh, they love each other so much that they got married. see that ring? that means marriage. those two love each other. they are married. that’s a pretty big thing, you know.

as humans, we seem to be on a never-ending quest for meaning, which entails countless parallel processes of organization to find or create universal meaning for very specific things. marriage is a great way to
explain to everyone else how you feel about someone without having to actually say a thing. i liked the milk so much that i bought the cow.

i didn’t really propose to julia. instead, i told her that i love her very much– so much so, in fact, that i want to marry her. furthermore, i added that i realize that i could easily live my life without her, which for me was something i never previously thought was possible while being so deep in the thick, swampy musk of love that i could just as easily lose a boot. julia, i could easily live my life without you, and this is exactly why i want to share as much of it as possible with you. there is no rush or extra necessary. just truth, just love.

a month ago, things were different. we talked about marriage a few times. if i proposed to you, i asked on one occasion, what would you say? ‘i would be lying if i said no.’ well, that’s just the thing, because i don’t think you’d really mean it if you said yes anyway. this conversation happened while i was hanging a pink cloth lamp in our goan kitchen, which is the kind of detail one does not easily forget, especially when one lives in a pink house with their multifoliate love.

the thought of marriage is not a new one in my life. i really thought i was going to marry the last girl i dated seriously. it was all planned out, and beautifully so. the first time we ate chinese food together, we
began a habit of handing each other their fortune cookies. to my knowledge, it was supposed to ensure that each fortune would come true. i was going to rig the cookies to come out so that the one i hand her
would read “will you marry me?” she would look up– completely astonished, of course– just as i would crack mine open to reveal the ring, which was my late grandfather’s and a dear family heirloom. in my
head, romantic music would swell up in the background, a flock of doves would descend upon the restaurant, and then the credits would roll over a montage of special moments from our relationship thus far.

as fate would have it, that didn’t happen. fair enough, i suppose. i knew exactly how i wanted to pop the question, and that i indeed wanted to do so. one important part of the equation was missing, however: the
right time. there never was one. by the time we split up, it was too late. i was too tied up in my own miseries and distractions to do much else than cope.

actually, i exited stage left. act two found me in india, and the history is at rest.

i just want you to know that i want to marry you. this doesn’t mean that we need to or have to or that i’m even asking. i want you to know how i feel, that what we have is special, more special than any other love
i’ve ever experienced, a love finally second only to the love i have for my Self. i had to peel away so much ego, so much attachment to external sensations to confidently be able to say this without guilt, regret, or
second thought. for the first time in my life, i am completely in love with someone that i don’t need in my life, whose presence is a blessing and who loves me back the same exact way without any doubt between us.

these were pretty much the first words i said after 9 days of complete silence.

under a full moon, with orion and scorpio as my witnesses, i put very rudimentary words to very dynamic emotions. it didn’t really make a difference if she said yes or no or anything in between. she responded
by telling me to ask again later. but i didn’t ask. well, understand that i can’t answer that question right now. then i will ask you again– for the first time– on the next full moon. perfect.

two days later, our eyes locked during a very intimate moment. you don’t have to wait until the full moon. will you marry me? yes. and that was that. there were no doves, no fortune cookies, and no romantic music. i think the first thing we did was google “american german marriage” while chatting on aim with my friend mykey and my brother. i guess that’s pretty romantic.

i still don’t know why people get married. i know why i want to, and why i am. i have a match, a challenge, a reward, and a partner to share my everything with. we both understand that it is the law of nature for
things to rise up and pass on, and fully accept whatever may come with each new day, new step, new breath. what is really interesting that even though we’re both open to the whole idea of no expectation or
attachment, we’re both being incredibly realistic in expressing how absolutely retarded we are for each other. basically, we’ve dropped all pretense and ego in order to create space for sharing a fantastic
reality together.

so there you go. i’m getting married. while it is a huge step, it really isn’t a big deal. nothing changes and everything changes every day. one thing is for sure, though– it’s going to be quite the exciting ride,
perhaps even more so when your one fixed point moves right alongside with you. don’t worry, i’ll be sure to let you know what infinity is like if we get there. in the meantime, the plan is to enjoy the ride.

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thus, i sat

my first acid experience was not a planned one. in fact, i didn’t even know i was on acid at the time. my intention was just to take a few pills with some friends one evening. reality took a rather pointed turn at one fathomless, unnameable point during the night in which things went from one degree of extremely interesting to another one. just like many other young adults in college, i went through a period of
exploration and expansion that included the consumption of various concoctions and substances which would result in a variety of desirable (and, at times, less-than-desirable) sensations. regarding one’s
mortality as fit and folly is much easier when one has sneaking suspicions that one will never die.

ecstacy is an aptly named substance which yields a similarly named sensation. narcotics are like a box of chocolates, as in you never really know what you’re going to get. when my aptly named sensations
took on a somewhat different frill of distraction, i naturally wrote it off as side-effect of psychotropic fascination. yet the soft spiral from one cloud 9 to another kept winding as the bouncing ball which led the
chorus in my mind became an explosion of confused butterflies. i suspected something was up– although not at the time, mind you; only in retrospect the next morning– when i had a pleasant exchange with a
carrot in my friend’s parent’s fridge**. last night did not go as planned, and this was chalked up as a complete success because last night was extremely fun.

only years later, when i made a conscious decision to try lsd for the “first time”, did i realize that a) ‘well, huh! i’ve felt this before.’ and b) i finally unlocked the secret to communicating with vegetables. it held a familiar tone, but the song was completely different. these time-delayed sensational permutations where i was given a short glimpse of an experience yet to come seem to bubble up over and over again. i can’t say that the realization that snoop dogg and dr. dre were heavily sampling from parlament funkadelic, or that i really did enjoy okra despite never really knowing what it was, carried the same amount of gravitas as magic sparkle of the night of the carrot.

i’ve just completed my first 10-day vipassana course, an immense and immensely rewarding experience in which one becomes rapt in the depths of their own sensational permutations in the name of meditation and eventual enlightenment. although i’d like to add my usual adage that ‘it might not be easy, but it doesn’t have to be hard’ right here, in good faith i cannot. it was a lot of work, despite the fact that one isn’t asked to do much physically. in fact, you are told not do do much else between sessions, with only the most gentle stretching allowed and never walking faster than a thoughtful saunter can take you. students are charged with sitting still in a meditative position (sitting legs crossed, hands together, eyes closed) for at least 10 hours a day. you are up at 4am and in bed by 10 that evening.

“there is a chance for us to do vipassana before heading to rishikesh after we leave goa. how do you feel about that?”
sure. why not?
“you know what vipassana is, right?”
yup.
“and you are ready to do it?”
are you ready to do it?
“you americans always answer questions with questions. yes.”

i answered the question the same way i would accept a cup of chai– sure, i’d like a cup of chai. that sounds nice. there was no real thought necessary. every seemed more concerned than i was in the days leading up to the course.

-”you know you only get two meals a day, right?”
yes.
-”you know you can’t move much the whole time, right?”
yes.
-”you can’t talk the whole time. 10 days of silence. scott, do you know that?”
yes. yes i do. can i have my chai now?

the truth of the matter was that once i learned the basic skills required to move and communicate, i’ve been actively exercising them for 28 years. it was high time that i sat down and shut up for a bit. the idea of spending 10 days in a tranquil setting where i don’t have to do or make any decisions about my time while learning how to better use my mind to connect with my body sounded wonderful. i didn’t think it would be easy by any stretch of the imagination, but glorious things can happen when a little effort is expended.

thus, i sat.

the main focus of vipassana meditation revolves around the equanimous observation of physical sensations that come up while sitting motionless. one is asked not to judge the feelings, thoughts, or
emotions that come up during the process. your back hurt? observe it. is your foot asleep? observe it. remember somethig that happened years ago that just popped up for no apparent reason? observe it. got an itch? observe it.

observe it, but do not judge it. try not to react to it. vipassana works on helping one to not feed the habit patterns of reaction that body has in connection with the unconscious mind. there is a much more detailed reason that more clearly connects the two, but you are told directly not to question at the time why it works, but to observe that it does work.

i thought that was fair– “yeah, sure, we could bore you with a vague description that sort of relates how it works, but even we don’t understand exactly how it works… why waste your time our ours?” in the process of the elimination of one’s various miseries and distractions, why not just get the ball rolling before studying the physics behind it?

to be honest, a lot of ego must be released in order to truly drop in. i had no problem with the sitting, the silence, or any of that. my biggest challenge was true equanimity. even if i could remain non-judgemental
about the negative things that inevitably came up, i couldn’t help but enjoy when things felt good. this took quite a few days. there is a lot of emphasis on the avoidance of craving or aversion (raga or dvesha)
towards the physical manifestations of a sub-conscious mind on red alert under the detailed scrutiny of an observant mind.

basically, once you begin to observe the physical sensations all over the body, you understand how the law of impermanence– anitya, change, the act of rising and passing away– is the governing law of nature. you
know that buddha fellow? basically, after a boatload of self-study and preparation, he decided that he would just sit under a banyan tree and observe how the body and mind reacts. when sensations–and the resultant craving or aversion attached– arose, he simply observed them with an unbiased mind. deep rooted seeds of misery– sankaras– need to be watered to grow, and one does so by either feeding the feelings of craving or aversion that sprout. if one can remain equanimous, these seeds that rise up will eventually dissolve.

essentially, it’s a karmawash. and, oh yes… seeds do come up, and even if one just patiently observes, the process of rising and passing away is not always a quick one. you know you are on the right path when you
don’t want it to go very fast, nor do you want it to go very slow. whether you care or not, you just accept it as the present moment and remain observant. it’s powerful stuff.

as i went deeper and deeper into the practice, there were many times where i realized that i had felt these sensations before. in fact, i came to realize that much of my personality grew in light of an over-sensitivity to the constant sensations one uncovers when asked to pay attention. what can i say? i’m a sensitive guy, and this sensitivity is at times overwhelming. thus, i turn up my own volume and live louder. funny thing, that.

my intention here is not to go too deep into my own personal experience regarding the sensations that came up during the course. in order to truly know, one must first experience. i’ve decided to answer questions only if asked, and share with those who really want to know. on the other hand, i am more than happy to relate a few golden moments and observations that took place outside of the meditation itself.

i’ve been on the road, so to speak, for about 15 months now. at least 8 of them have spent in india. do i like i here? yes. am i excited to leave? yes. will i come back? yes. all of this, however, does not come from blind devotion. there is so much of this country that really tests one’s tolerance and patience. it’s dirty, it’s loud, the idea of personal space is astronomically different than it is anywhere else in the world. on an individual, case by case basis, i have had some wonderful interactions and formed some strong bonds with indian men and women. i must say, however, that on the whole they are incredibly adept at pushing my “stab me in the eye with a sharp object” button. this button has long since been broken, and even though it gets pressed daily, the sign still remains brightly posted above it– which in itself is sweetly ironic and pefectly apt given the countrymen so prone to jab it fiercely.

imagine it is a video doorbell system where once the button is pushed, and loud airhorn sounds as live video of the caller appears on the other end. the horn is broken (most of the time) and the video never really turns off. it’s fun to watch and easy to ignore (now), but sometimes i still hear that airhorn. i’m glad it’s broken, though, because most indian men look like charles bronson or clint eastwood with brown skin,
and you don’t want go around stabbing guys like that in the eye with sharp objects.

i spent 10 days with about 55 indian men. my roommate, whom i never spoke to, was a 50 year old who was a one-man-band of bodily sounds that were not limited to any one particular situation. scratching, spitting, burping, farting, moaning, groaning, snoring, slurping, coughin, sighing… much more john philip sousa (star-spangled colon) than johann sebastian bach (breaking wind in g string). mulitiply that by 54 and imagine that cacophony everywhere you go– in the dormitory, the meditation hall, the dining room.

we were given buckets to take showers. hot water was available at 6:30 am– after 90 minutes of meditation followed by breakfast– where one needed to walk to the top water faucet around the back of one of the residence halls. i found that half a bucket of hot water was more than enough to get the job done from head to toe. indian men will fill that bucket all the way to the top, struggle with the weight of 15 liters of hot water back towards their room, only to use half of it and leave the rest for use later. invariably, it would be emptied out or used for laundry long after it had cooled down.

i don’t know about you, but i love philips-head screws. the preferred screw that holds everything together in a country of over 1 billion people is the slot-head screw. considering that everything here is held
together by screws, i am constantly baffled by this institutional measure. in my experience, this screw requires much more effort to put in, as the driver is prone to jumping out of the groove when the tourqe
increases. this makes using a drill extremely hard with slot-head screws. plus, it is also much more challenging to drive the screw in from an angle, which many projects often require. i doff my cap to mr.
philips, inventor of the cross-slotted screw, for making my screwing experience my more enjoyable.

curry leaves are a used as a substitute for sanitary urinal cakes. go figure.

we got to watch a video for one hour every evening of discourse from s.n. goenka, one of the most well respected teachers of the dhamma since buddha himself. he even looks like buddha, equal parts smiles and seriousness. i really enjoyed that every day i would go through hugely immense experiences that always left me with a few questions, only to get to watch a video of a man telling me exactly what i went through, how one can make sense of it, and then give me a glimpse of what was to come tomorrow. i couldn’t help but feel like it was like “mission: vipassana” and i was training to be a highly-skilled meditation ninja.

“your mission, should you choose to accept it, will be to focus all awareness on the triangular area above the upper lip and below the nose, the moustache area, and look for subtle sensations….” i always
accepted, and found myself observing a sense of enjoyment and satisfaction in doing so.

i see indian men drink water a lot, but they don’t swallow. a full cup will be poured. they take it in in separate gulps, gargle, and spit it out. rarely do they actually swllow, which is odd, because most of the
time, indians will not put their lips on the the bottle or cup.

a lizard jumped out of a urinal onto my leg. presumably he was munching on curry leaves. he then proceeded to climb up my leg. i shook him off and he landed a foot away. staring up into my eyes, he opened his mouth, stuck his tounge out, and just stared. i courched down and stared back. we both were motionless for a minute or so. an indian man was watching this whole thing pan out, and tried to put in to an end by stamping his foot a few times. neither of us moved.

there was one day i sat for almost 4 hours straight without moving. the gong went off, everyone left, and i stayed. the gong went off, everyone returned, and i was still there. i didn’t really feel like moving. my
stillness was duly noted in a society of men whose sole purpose was to rush from one place to another, only to sit down and wait until that gong went off. hurry up and wait. hurry up and wait. hurry up and wait. also, given that i am generally regarded as one of the fastest and most voracious eaters a lot of people know, it should be noted that i am humbled in the presence of indian men. it’s hard to have food focus when one is awash in the velvety foam of slurps, burps, and lip-smacking. and why not? the food was delicious, prepared fresh every meal, and very satisfying.

of course, i became a local celebrity when the noble silence was lifted on that final day. noble silence not only requires that one doesn’t speak, but one refrains from eye contact or any action that can distract
others from their own stillness. i regarded this rule with great solemnity and seriousness, and perhaps much more literally than most everyone else.

“you walked so slow to food. so slow. you are a great mediator.”
well, there wasn’t really any rush…
“you did not move once. i watch everyone. you only one who did not move. you were very inspiring to me.”
why, thank you, harish, that is very kin–
“why are western white people wanting to be sitting in the sun all the time? you call it sunbathing.”
i, uh.. just wanted to feel the sun on my skin. we were inside so muc-
“very inspiring.”
great. thanks.

it seems that everything can be related to something else, and there is a definite art to observing the rising and passing between each moment. will i do it again? yes. it was an experience that not only allowed me
to reconnect with an intense love and respect for life, but gave me some well-needed tools to help me experience it much more deeply.

what’s next? right now i am on a long, slow train to new delhi, where i will connect with another one heading to haridwar. our final destination is rishikesh. we were supposed to leave yesterday, but ended up missing our train due to a minor oversight concerning the station of departure. the resultant efforts to cancel and rebook took us to every major train station in bombay proper, fully laden with backpacks and bags, on a three hour whirlwind ride on the wings of indian bureaucracy. it ended with a lovely conversation with a station agent about shopping at marshall’s and tj maxx in new york. she directed us to a delicious restaurant for dinner, samrat, which we had planned on going to but didn’t think there would be time.

there is always time. yesterday was one of those days where you emerge from 10 days of silent meditation into the burlap flow of a mother india at 6am, ride a bus to catch a train for 4 hours, to head to a friend’s
house to repack, to return to the station you arrived in just hours prior, to miss the train you were meant to be on, to ride more local trains than you can remember in pursuit of window 27, fabled window 27
for foreign tourists and confirmed trains to faraway places, all the time submerged in a conversation that slowly changes your life as it discusses the changes within it, to finally rebook for the train you
were meant to be on in the first place, to see how everything fit together so nicely, so gently, so perfectly, without judgement, without observation, with someone you know you know and know she knows you, to
eat a thali in shared gratitude for noble stillness between two lovers in the midst of an around-the-world revelation, no rush, no extra, to eventually returning to a big bed with lots of time, lots of silken time
late night, early morning time, to a proposal, to an acceptance, to a shared silent embrace at 3am on friday the 13th, february, 2009, and then finally to sleep. another day, another way.

there is always time, and there will be only time to observe the beauty of being present.

we are engaged.

sure, we’d like some chai. why not?

**i heard a voice calling from the kitchen down the hall.
–hey. come here–
um. excuse me?
“who are you talking to?”
i’m going to the kitchen. i’l lbe back.
–hey. hey!–
i peered around the corner of the hallway. the room was dark, full of that linoleum and tiled silence normally reserved for empty kitchens at 2am, save only for the delicate hum of the fridge.
–psst. hey. open the fridge–
who is it?
a yell from down the hall: “who are you talking to?”
there is someone in the fridge. this was said to myself.
–come on, open it.–
ok. and so i did.
–hey. down here. in the crisper.– i remember the linoleum roll of the sssss of crisper.
ok, now what?
down the hall: “what are you doing?”
i’m opening the crisper, also said under the breath. a large carrot was revealed.
–peel me.–
what?
–peel. me.–
sure, why not?
down the hall: “scott, what’s up?”
i’m peeling carrots, for chrissakes. i’ll be back soon. this was finally
said loud enough to echo back.
“oh. word.”
yeah.
–yes.–

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seamless transitions

we taught an intermediate level acro-flow workshop to a beachside shala full of russian ashtangis entitled “seamless transitions” a few days back, which in itself is sincere proof in the potency of a good working title and of the inherent power of the individual words themselves.

seamless in the flow of events which began conspire from the moment my eyes found the flier at the European Juggling Convention skated–

hey, i was at the indian juggling convention in india!
dieke: “and now you are at the one in karlsrhue, germany.”
yeah, i totally hope i don’t dislocate a finger at this one also.

–to the conversation with one of the busiest men in goa, a german firespinner by the name of ‘tom shanti’ at (surprise) the german bakery about my experience over the summer–

hey, i was at the europen juggling convention in karlsrhue, germany!
tom: “and now you will be teaching at the one in goa, india.”
yeah, i totally hope i have a class with 75 people at this one also.

–to when timofey ra, who is basically ivan drago with john rambo hair and a voice like borat, approached julia and i after our performance at the friday night talent show.

“i really enjoy what you two do. how long together you fly?”
well… hmmm, julia, what do you think– something like five…”
j:”…maybe six months now.”
“months? months? you mean years?”
j:”no, months. i think maybe more like two or three months. scott’s been traveling a lot.”
it is true, i have.

the indian juggling convention this season had a smaller, more dedicated, and warmer vibe than the one last year, which resulted in a really friendly, supportive atmosphere where admirers of the circus arts could congregate and inspire. our workshops were incredibly well received, and we felt honored to contribute to the vibe when pierrick, one of the organizers, asked us to perform that evening. with about an hour and a half to take a few deep breaths, eat a thali, and throw something together for a 9 o’clock time slot, we thought, “why not?”

75 minutes, a few deep breaths, and a couple overpriced thalis later, we had yet to plan anything.

i think often about what a travel agent in delhi told me as he happily booked us tickets to a place every other travel agent had said “why go somewhere dangerous? bandits live there.” as they tried to overcharge us. tried. the happily honest agent said something along the lines of “only when we venture off the beaten path do we find those true golden moments.” you can’t plan fate, you can only prepare for it. improvisation it was.

“you both look so smooth. no effort.”
thank you, timofey. it sometimes doesn’t feel like that.
“come make workshop at my studio.”
j to me:”what do you think?”
what do you think?
j:”americans always answer questions with questions.”
sure, timofey, we would like to make workshop. at your studio.
“when are you available? are you available tomorrow?”
uh, how about next friday?
next friday you teach. we will talk. very good!

surely enough, we taught. the last few weeks– actually, i should say months– have gotten progressively more busy with every passing class, passing day. we were just about to enter the two week home stretch, but wanted to make it work. so we did. we also ended up bringing 12 people up with us from anjuna to a workshop in between mandrem beach and arambol. that’s a 30 minute scooter brigade from one seaside town to another. we were greeted by 20 russian ashtangis who had been drinking yerba mate all morning.

afterwards, we were asked if we could come back and do a more advanced class for the ones who had done it before. happily, we obliged. this was great feedback to help us decide if the russians had actually enjoyed the class. it was a very serious crowd. as soon as the namaskars were finished, they warmed up considerably. our only concern was that the class’s direction dissipated slightly when we got actual flying. a few times during the session either we weren’t teaching effectively or they weren’t fully listening. the constant hushed chatter of an individual’s need for translation combined with the errant cell phone ring and subsequently suprising answer by the owner himself was a little distracting. i don’t think the mate helped much, either.

despite all of this, we happily obliged. our main intention for tuesday’s class was to find the perfect balance between challenge and support. we knew that they wanted to acroyoga superstars right away, knew they had a working understanding of the basic moves, and whipped together a flow the both challenged their talents yet supported their growth. it is a magical journey in which the flyer glides across all three planes of flight– forward, reverse, and back flying– with a strong emphasis on (you guessed it) smoothly transitioning between each one.

this type of thing, achieving seamless transitions, is easy when you are doing something you love. hours can pass in the span of five breaths if you breathe the right way. exhale, goa. pause. inhale, mumbai. i find myself sitting on an overnight train to mumbai, legs comfortably straddled across my carefully arranged baggage in my upper birth of sleeper class. i recognize this is quite a step away from the hanuman lounge, my favorite table at the german bakery. were i still in goa this evening, i would most likely be there at this time. patrick the baker would be drinking coffee and diligently creating notes for a leadership seminar he plans to lead back home. pankaj, the owner, would either be cuddled up next to a beautiful russian woman or inside of a warm blanket, and in each case either in the process of rolling up or smoking a spliff. julia would have her papaya-banana-lime pulp, and i, a danish pastry and chai.

yet the moment finds me on a train waiting for another to pass somewhere in the middle of maharastra. the constant whir of overworked fans is momentarily deafened by the roaring wail of a rapid steam whistle outside, only to quickly melt back into the ear as if a train had never passed, not pulling countless of opportunities being realized by other people going in the opposite direction.

as the train continues to pass and be passed, continues down the rails towards it’s final destination, the moment changes with every breath. even with the lights off, chaiwallahs continue to patrol the sleeper car at all hours droning on in their telltale cries, “chaichaichai! chai! chai!” becomes “nescafe, nescafe, nescafe, hot coffee” becomes “veg sanvich. veg sanvich.” it all blends together into one sound– noise, to be sure, but reassuring noise at that.

i am reassured because it has finally happened. after being in india for over three months, i have finally arrived. goa is halfway between india and the rest of the world (diet dr. india). it can be purgatory for those looking for more, paradise for those looking to escape, and all of the varying levels of interest in between. apropos of the tropical, laid-back atmosphere, i find that limbo is quite a fitting name.

mumbai is only a two-night rest stop, where we drop some bags before heading off to pune early sunday morning. vipassana (go on, click it) begins sunday afternoon at 4pm, and for the next 10 days, i will not be allowed to talk, make eye contact, or do any sort of dynamic movement besides breathing and slow, mindful walking. there is a set guided meditation that i will be asked to do which will fill my waking hours. go ahead and google ‘vipassana’ for more information. go on, do it.

paradise or purgatory? i feel that i am ready to find out, and look forward to the welcome opportunity to not do or say anything for ten introspectful days. considering that one i never stopped celebrating my abilities once i learned to talk and walk, i think it is high time to take a break and try something different. given today’s theme, i hope to invite seamless movement from moment to moment, to both observe and accommodate change.

i’m sure there will be a lot to share after the experience, and look forward to see how it will manifest itself. see you on the other side, space cowboys.

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obliged to receive

bags are packed. pink house cleaned out. final performance successful. yoga mat rolled up. the tiffin is full. all i need are a few samsoas to take with me on the train, and i’m as good as gone.

in the final days leading up to my departure, a lot of people have asked me about leaving goa…

“hey scott, how do you feel about leaving goa?”
i got it.
“you got it?”
oh yes, i’ve got it.
“got what, exactly?”

you see, goa has been good to me. it has provided me with countless opportunities to expand, to learn, to fly. in goa, i am a teacher, a student, a family member, a loved one. goa has given me so much, and i
have been obliged to receive as much as possible.

there is only so much, however, one should really receive without making good use of it– whatever ‘it’ is. am i ready to leave goa? yes, because i feel it is time to begin using all of the support, knowledge, and
perspective that i’ve been blessed with here. goa? i get it. not only do i get it, i got it. thanks for that, goa.

the process of leaving has been somewhat busy. in preparation for an overnight train to mumbai that leaves in a few hours, there has been so much to do that the other night when julia and i drove around an 8-foot python the was causing a traffic jam, we both forgot about it the next day.

wait, didn’t we see a snake the other day? do you remember that snake we saw the other day?
“snake? what snake?”
on the way to the petrol pump. after teaching at the russian place in mandrem, before meeting everyone for dinner at bean me up.
“snake…. oh yes. that was a big snake.”
i reckon about 7 or 8 feet long, that one.
“reckon? what does reckon mean?”
(having a german sidekick is quite often an entertaining thing)

goan, goan, gone. next stop, mumbai. then off to pune for a vipassana.
more on that later.

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a phenomenon unique

there was a widespread petrol shortage a few weeks ago. from what i could tell, mind you, this didn’t have anything to do with an actual lack of fuel at all. depending on who you talked to, one might hear
about a statewide trucker strike or fuel company speculation about an impending price drop. regardless of reason– as is so often the case in india– the petrol pump in vagator was closed. upon driving past the
crudely large, hand-painted sign reading “no stock” in front of the pump, i deftly inquired about the situation:

why, baba? why no petrol today? (translation: excuse me, good sir. might i ask as to why there is no petrol on this fine day?)
“no truck. no petrol.” (alas, my friend, the truck meant to deliver the petrol has not arrived.)
atcha. when will truck come? (zounds, i see. do you know when this truck will arrive?)
“petrol maybe tomorrow, maybe not.” (petrol maybe tomorrow, maybe not.)
what to do?

at this point, though, i did not suspect anything was wrong. the pump frequently runs out of gas on a quite regular basis. i did take particular notice to the fact that they took time to scratch “no stock” on a piece of loose, splintered plywood, but wrote it off to an honest attempt at customer service. ha. it was even spelled right.

i’ve seen pictures of how things were back during fuel shortages in the 70s back in america– long lines of colorful dodge chargers and volkswagen bugs queuing up to maybe/maybe not get gas at the local station, their bellbottomed and long-haired drivers listlessly (or in some cases, quite angrily) mulling around as they await their turn.

this is not the case in india.

we went to mapusa with some friends to grab a thali at hotel ashok. i noticed an extra amount of traffic as we approached the roundabout (which is akin to saying something like ‘i noticed an extra amount of
chest hair on burt renoylds’s chest). unlike regular goan traffic, this particular jam was much more patient. countless motorcycles, scooters, taxis, and autorickshaws were parked in a somewhat orderly fashion on the lefthand side of the road. unfortunately for everyone else, the entrance to the bus station was on the right. this means that opposite the substantial, yet surprisingly calm throng of vehicles was a long line of huge coach buses trying to squeeze between the petrol pump and the wall to the parking area on their way to the depot.

it was at this point that i noticed many of the people waiting in line for the gas had large, empty containers of varying shape and function, ranging from empty water bottles to industrial cooking oil tins to proper gas cans. there is a phenomenon unique to asian countries, especially india, in which it is perfectly safe to buy and store petrol in plastic bottles. it is also completely safe, if not an oft-encouraged good idea, to transport litres of petrol in the boot (british english for trunk) of a car or two-wheeler. seriously, don’t worry about it. nothing ever happens.

i smelled me a gas shortage. as soon as we maneuvered ourselves through the gridlock (is it still called gridlock when there is nary a grid involved?) and parked our bikes in front of ashok, i immediately checked the level of my tank by eye. another phenomenon unique to asian countries, especially india, is that there is at least one thing broken on every scooter or motorcycle on the road. ‘don’t worry, it is perfectly safe,’ the friendly rental man will tell you… and, of course, it is. most of the time, just the gas gauge won’t work. or the speedometer. or the low-beams. or maybe all of them. no big deal,
really. as long as the brakes work and the engine turns on, you’ve got yourself a totally safe means of transportation. if you think about it, all you really did was give some random indian dude a couple hundred rupees and he gave you a bike. end of transaction. considering it requires no actual paperwork or need to show (or own) license or passport– like something much more dangerous which requires a degree of experience or skill, like purchasing and operating a cell phone or buying a plane ticket– what do you expect? it’s just a gas-powered machine capable of propelling you down poorly paved and lit roads often
overpacked with other motorists, some carrying a few litres of petrol with them. seriously, don’t worry about it. nothing ever happens.

anyways, with the help of the torch (british english for flashlight) that is part of my mobile phone*, i saw that i had plenty of fuel left to get me back to anjuna where i could probably grab a few water bottles
full o’ petrol instead of wait for three hours to most likey get no more than a migrane and a bad high from the fumes. one delicious thali and a quick jaunt through the mapusa market for tiny bananas and a delicious papaya, monkey and i hopped back onto our chariot of fire and scoot-scoot-scooted our way back home. i quickly located a store that had stockpiled some petrol, put a litre into the tank and brought two home with me in case of emergency. such foresight! such preparation!

such is life. i ask you this– what good is foresight and preparation without any followthrough? what good is petrol in a plastic bottle at home if your scooter runs out while you are far, far away?

it was a lovely evening, really, which came after a lovely day teaching and performing at the indian juggling convention in mandrem. right before we were about to teach our third class of the week, pierrick– one of the organizers– asked us if we’d be interested in having a slot in the talent show that night. why not? as we got on the scooter to make the drive back home, my only concern was that it was almost 10pm and that we had to cross the siolim bridge to get back home to anjuna. this was the humorously-fated site of last year’s ‘pair of yoga pants, a roll of tape, a dolphin skull, and half a coconut’ police roadblock encounter. i didn’t have anything very exciting to distract corrupt police officers hungry for backseesh (hindi for bribe) in the boot of the scooter this time. i just wanted to make it over that bridge without any reason to stop and haggle with anyone.

surely enough, that exact prayer was answered. we made it over the bridge without any reason to haggle with anyone. in fact, we just made it. as the engine began to sputter and die as we passed the midpoint of
the siolim bridge, i found myself balanced between two opposite reactions. on one side, i was extremely angry that i had not put one of the extra bottles of petrol in the tank (or at least safely under the
seat, of course, just above the engine. it doesn’t get that hot in there, really). on the other, i couldn’t have been happier to know that the bridge gently sloped downhill until it hit land, at which point there just had to be countless number of shops just waiting to sell a very-soon-to-be-stranded traveler such as myself some petrol.

i’m beginning to notice a trend which i would like to “nip in the bud”. there have been at least five times that i can clearly remember in the past year in which i’ve run out of petrol. thankfully, each time had
resulted in a somewhat exciting, if not in the very least entertaining, adventure. to be fair, i’d like to add that it was totally the scooter’s fault. there must be something intrinsically magnetizing about the
essence of my being that inspires people to rent me scooters with faulty petrol gauges. do i dare try to break step and opt to maintain a full tank or shall i continue to tempt fate by inviting an adventure to fill up?

at least i wasn’t alone, and that my company was both extremely helpful and extremely cute. i pushed, she inquired. it seemed that only bars frequented by people who couldn’t be bothered were open. we recieved
instructions to continue heading towards the siolim roundabout, where ‘two shops should be open. petrol probably there. if not, oh well.’

thank you, sir, that was marginally helpful. regardless, it was a very clear evening, not too hot and not too cool. i found it somewhat ironic that we passed a large, bright billboard for a vodka from segrams called
‘fuel’, whose tag line was ‘never run out of it’. we continued push-push-pushin’ on. it was getting late, and i wanted to make sure  that we get there while the shops were open. much to our relief, they were.

after rolling up to the first shop, taking care not to hit any of the cows sleeping in the middle of the street around the concrete island of the roundabout or to be hit by any of the passing motorists speedily
enjoying their petrol, i inquired about purchasing some fuel and abottle of soda. there is a phenomenon unique to asian countries, especially india, where carbonated water is called soda and not seltzer.
furthermore, what i grew up knowing to be considered soda is known as a soft drink. in fact, if you ask for seltzer anywhere outside of the united states, you will be met with a blank stare. if someone asks if
you’d like a drink and you ask what kind of soda they have, you will be met with a blank stare. it should also be noted, however, that there is a good chance you will be met with a blank stare even if you say that
you want soda and point directly at the bottle right in front of theperson you are ordering from.

“soda, yes. petrol, no. no more petrol anywhere in goa.”
wow. well, what about over there? (i point, somewhat hopelessly, at the much smaller and dimly lit shop across the way)
“no more petrol anywhere in goa. maybe mapusa.”
yeah, i heard that somewhere. great.

we were about a 20 minute drive from the undoubtedly closed or patiently swarmed mapusa petrol pump. julia got into a conversation with a random westerner who was passing by from, oddly enough, salt lake city about, not-so-oddly enough, yoga. i left them to their own accord as i ventured out, wading through the silent revelry of sleeping cows, towards SHREE GANESHA ENTERPRISES. there is a phenomenon unique to asian countries, especially india, that large beverage and alcohol companies will provide
restaurants and shops with free signage and menus that promote the brand more than the actual business itself. SHREE GANESHA ENTERPRISES was clearly sponsored by coke. had it been a restaurant, every page on the menu would offer a variety of combos which delightfully pair an item which most likely isn’t available with a delicious and refreshing coke, which always is. the shopkeeper saw me coming up, and greeted me exactly how i wanted to be greeted:

“i can have petrol for you in seven minutes.”
sounds great. thank you very much. i’ll have a soda water while i wait.
“my friend is bringing petrol for you right now.”
amazing. the man over there said there is no petrol anywhere in goa except mapusa.
“the man is wrong.”
clearly. i saw the line at the pump. how do you have petrol?
“i know a guy.”

there is a phenomenon unique to asian countries, especially india, in which one can get anything in about five minutes. a prime example is commonplace when ordering food or drinks. a restaurant offers pineapple juice on the menu. that sounds refreshing, so you order it. about half an hour later, it will arrive. why did it take so long? for starters, they didn’t have any pineapple, so one of the boys had to go down the road to buy one. this takes about five minutes. don’t forget to add that
onto the normal waiting time for your order, which is about 25 minutes. time is laughably irrelevant, especially to workers in the service industry. every time you asked about your pineapple juice, the answer
was the same– five minutes. i guess it just depends on the clock, whichalways seems to be broken. this is also strikingly odd, as i’ve never seen a country with so many shops, called ‘time centers’, that sell only
clocks and watches. everyone has one. nobody uses ‘em. go figure.

i didn’t wait seven minutes for petrol. i waited three. when i arrived, i had another ironic laugh as the petrol was decanted by the man fom SHREE GANESHA ENTERPRISES from one larger container into a one-litre pepsi bottle, which i then emptied into my extremely parched scooter. key in ignition. monkey on back. cap doffed to helpful shopkeper. engine sputters to life. away we went. there is a phenomenon unique to asian countries, especially india, where you end up exactly where you are
supposed to be, especially when you run out of gas. there you learn something about yourself, the culture around you, and how the two somehow fit together.

*yes, my cell phone has a flashlight built into it. some people have mp3players, others a camera, but not me. mine has a bright LED torch. have you downloaded the iphone application to help you peer inside of a dark gas tank yet? you are totally missing out. what a waste of $300

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a much welcomed pause between tempest and whirlwind

at 6:50p next thursday, there will be a train passing through thivum station heading north. it will run all night, and arrive into mumbai central station 12 hours later. i will be on this train, leaving behind the sandy, sunny smoke and mirrors of goa. after being india for over three months, i will be finally arriving. often, i refer to goa as india lite, and joke that anyone who moves on to other parts of the country as going to real india.

the joke is that i am not joking, not one bit. goa is a beachside paradise for sure, full of strange and colorful people engaged in a variety of strange and colorful escapades. and despite it possessing all of the trimmings– loads of indians, terrible infrastructure, widespread governmental corruption on all levels, little personal space, poor spatial relations, and a fine layer of dust everywhere– goa just ain’t real india.

it’s relatively expensive. in fact, it’s damn near relative fiscal insult, as it caters mostly to the exploits of terribly dressed westerners, many of them package-deal charterholics in search of a wild place to spend some money. considering that the rest of india is easily explored for just a few dollars a day, one can easily spend more on a glass of wine– let alone a full meal for two– than on a full day of exploration anywhere else.

this has afforded a frugal traveler such as myself a good amount of entertainment as i track down and locate the best ways to make my money go longer while living in paradise. 30 rupee thalis from hotel ashok in mapusa. samosa and avocado-banana shake breakfasts at the local bhaji-walla by the petrol pump. a host of fried deliciousness awaits the palate of the adventurous gourmand. one needs look no further than the cart on the side of the road.

i spent 3 hours at the wednesday market in anjuna today looking for the perfect pair of ali baba pants with julia. we found 8. soon we will be learning how to surf the excitement of the indian international postal
service as we aim to ship some things back home before leaving. if it is anything like getting a scooter repaired by an indian mechanic, it will be a sight to see. especially when that sight includes clipping a length of rusty wire off of a nearby store sign when nobody seems to be looking to jury-rig a setup to keep a tube, presumably for the gas line, from falling out of place.

nah. nobody is watching, india. do whatever you please. we’ll love you all the same.

and it’s true. i do love it here. goa is fine, which is a noticeable downgrade from how i enjoyed it last year, but i still enjoy it all the same. much like only getting a small sip of a tasty, cool beverage on a hot day every few minutes, goa has managed to keep me marginally satisfied for another real india experience until time has come to return. next week, that 6:50 train to bombay will leave, and i will be on it. little will be left behind, and much will be looked forward to. whether or not i ever return, one thing remains the same– anything is possible here. one needs only to have a clear intention and the willingness to see it through. it is a lesson i’ve been blessed to learn repeatedly, and in this respect, goa was a wonderful place to go to school.

we’ve been working a lot. between teaching a full five-day workshop series with julia, teaching and assisting every morning at brahmani, performing and teaching at various juggling conventions and public
events, and doing all of our own admin work in random blasts of internet action from a friend’s laptop at the german bakery, the next month we’ll spend flying around india will be a much welcomed pause between tempest and whirlwind. upon arriving in mumbai, we’ll drop off most of our stuff and head north for a month, traveling light and open. the idea is to get to the top of the ganges river. let’s see how far we get in a month. at the end of february, we leave india and head to abu-dhabi to begin the hurricane tour de phoenix flow.

time reveals all options. one needs only to have the patience to see it through. i look forward to observing every drop of sand fall in it’s own delicate way. once the glass has run dry, i’m ready for the flip.

ready, set, flow.

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