Yoga,Ashram, The cosmos and other such mumbo-jumbo...

After my yoga retreat in Maine last year, even the husband (who wasn't on that trip with me) decided that a mini yoga trip within a few hours of where we live might be worth a shot. The weekend of April 3rd-4th seemed especially promising - beautiful, sunny WEEKENDS (there is no need for the sun to shine so gracefully during the weekdays) are so hard to come by in this part of the world at this time of the year that letting your skin bathe in the sun is like stocking up on precious food while it lasts at a refugee camp. You never know how many days it will be before you are fed sunlight again if you live and work in New York, thanks to an evil conspiracy between rain bearing clouds and harried corporate clients.

We were off to Ananda Ashram in Monroe, New York, an hour's drive from Greenwich, CT. The entrance to the ashram had a sign on the wall, off to the side, in medium sized,subdued green letters which could be easily missed in the dark "Yoga Society of New York, Est. 1958". A couple walking up the pathway pointed us to the main office which was fairly dilapidated, old'ish building with a small,white creaky door. A caucasian lady with cropped hair and glasses sat in a little office which had pictures of Ganesha, Shri Krishna, Shri Brahmananda (The Guru) on the walls, and a small bench with brocade cushions for visitors to sit on while the lady checked them in and gave them instructions on how to get around the Ashram. The office had windows overlooking a small private lake and undulating green patches of land, that were not carefully manicured but not overgrown. Deers roamed about freely on the premises and the lady reacted to my excitement at seeing them by letting us know that the deers have lyme disease. Rooms are usually dorm style (with bunk beds) or semi private (two people to a room). The husband and I got a semi private room in one of the many similarly slightly creaky, somewhat dilapidated but clean buildings owned by the Ashram all within 100-150 yards of the main office building.
Rooms are spartan - two standing lamps, a basic dresser, two twin beds, two windows and a closet with additional blankets.
The establishment is basically run by volunteers - who were all under 25 and hipsters from Brooklyn, and broke into songs and played the guitar between chores.

All meals were preceeded by a little shloka recited by an oldi'sh volunteer who assumed that the husband and I would obviously chime in (being the only Indians around)- these american hindus who have never been to India don't realize that we don't start mouthing shlokas at birth(or sometimes ever).

Meals are served in a separate kitchen area and are american vegetarian (maybe even aspiring to be Indian, as their version of the palak paneer will have you believe) and no, I, the carnivore did not complain - maybe because as we piled the food on to our plates, the chef who looked like another one of 'dem hipsters, remarked that he was (or maybe had been) the assistant chef at David Bouley and Resto in Manhattan and was volunteering at the Ashram for a few months. I think this was meant to be a pick up line for the pretty young volunteer he was speaking with, but unfortunately for him the pretty young girl didn't know of either of the establishments, and turned away with a polite smile. The chef looked around expectantly, and found that the "unpickable" husband and me to be the only ones suitably impressed.

The meditation session was led by this German woman who called herself Bharti, wore a white cotton sari, played the harmonium, and seemed apalled that the husband and I spoke less Sanskrit (no Sanskrit in my case) than her. And that we hadn't read the Upanishads. She also teaches Sanskrit at the ashram, and read to us from the Vedas. Heavy duty stuff.

I don't know- what is it with ashrams being full of artists, musicians, writers, academics and hipsters? Since I am an aspiring artist-musician-writer-academic-hipster, I did not mind being out of place at all. Its the money, I think- going to the Ashram is cheaper than going to, I don't know, the hamptons maybe (which is too tacky for these sorts anyway) or flying away somewhere for the weekend. Several sessions of Yoga and meditation, three meals and the accomodation are all included in the price at the Ashram which is a fairly pretty place - alcohol is not allowed but feel free smoke up. And sing, by the lake or anywhere else you please. I think I see why they like it. I loved it.

On why I abandaoned my blog for all these months...

The whole concept of blogging came about when I was in grad school, like almost 7 years ago (wow, I am THAT old!) - and I remember that my then boy freind, who was a self confessed and amply acknowledged geek said to me "Wow, isn't this cool ? You can post your thoughts, articles whatever you like online!! Like a diary, except online..". Now, non-gadgety as I am , my engineering degree notwithstanding, I didn't quite relate to his excitement about having my whole life online and didn't grasp why this was supposed to be so much fun- not that I had ever been much of diary writer either. I shrugged his enthusiasm away..But now, I will tell you - despite my apparent reticence on my blog, I LOVE my blog. Mostly because I feel like its mine. A space I have created for myself, where I write, I live and for now, for the most part, only I read - I dont mind that very much, although it wouldn't be so bad to share my virtual space with freinds. Actually I guess I am a bit undecided about sharing this space, at this point sharing my presence here with everyone is allowing people to intrude into what has come to be my personal space. To me, my little corner here is different from my facebook presence where I am up there for everyone to see, supposedly. My facebook presence is within the facebook framework, where I am available to people and they are available to me according to FB's rules. On my blog though, its ALL me.

So why do I periodically abandon it ? Because I tend to take all that I love for granted - all that I love and all that makes me feel loved. I miss them, I think about them but because I know that they will always be there I dont make an effort to be in touch with them.

So there- that is my sentimental ode to my home online. I think about you, I love you, you make me feel special - and your punishment for all of that is that I dont stop by often enough.

Fall Fridays

I love 'em. I hate 'em. I hate to love 'em. Mostly it is miserable sitting indoors on a lovely fall friday - especially if most of it is spent thinking about another lovely day this season that was spent doing Yoga on an upward protruding ledge on the Mattawamkeag lake, in Maine. Since when did financial statements replace fragrant, blissful fall breeze...

Secret hideouts, untold pleasures...

The good thing about having very few (read: no) readers for your blog is that I can talk all I want about these little known fun things to do/see/eat (because I need to talk about them to someone, anyone) and still have them be my little secrets. Yay!
So

Secret Fun thing #1 : I have indulged myself in this all summer - my saturday morning jaunt to the small french deli right across from where we live in Greenwich. They are a less expensive sister establishment of a larger french restaurant two streets down. Their menu changes every week. Theirs is, I reckon, a triumph of few but perfect ingredients. Among their many goodies I love the perfectly crunchy baguettes straight out of the oven generously layered with freshly made raspberry/strawberry/blueberry jams - demolished within seconds of being within reach or the omlet with ham, comte cheese and caramelized onions sprinkled with herbs and served with a side of baby arugula, or their decadent, creamy, deliciously flavoured Quiches that ooze with goodness as you crunch into variously colored veggies that top it, or their apple strudels, danishes, rich and dark chocolate mousses - delicacies to be savored with coffee over the weekend edition of New York Times, and to be remembered until next Saturday(when I get to savour them again). That's my corner deli that serves, amongst everything else, as a reminder that all is well with the world.

Secret Fun thing #2 : The Long Islang City bar on Summer/Fall Sundays. Not that I am complaining, but I have no idea why so little is known about this. Few open air bars in the city have drink specials, live bands through the afternoon, an unspoilt 1880's saloon look AND a beautiful, lady like willow tree that stands tall as its several long, lazy branches arch over each and every window of the bar while the rays of the afternoon sun and gentle fall breeze collectively create a dance of leafy shadows on the yellow pages of your book. Peace is this. And a tall glass of chilled beer.

Secret Fun thing #3 : Watching the first rays of the sun at the eastern most point of the United States. It feels like you're at the edge of the earth : The vast forests extending all over the earth give in to steep cliffs before the vast expanse of the Atlantic engulfs you in its overwhleming beauty and enormous power of being the be-all and end-all of life - until, ofcourse, the sun rises over the horizon - assured of its might, permanent in its being. The buck stops here - in this small, quiet, sleepy little town of Lubec, Maine.

The Truth about Racial Stereotyping..

Is that it aint gonna stop. Not anytime soon. Regardless of the number of African Amercian scholar freinds of the President(Henry Louis Gates Jr.) getting treated to beer at the white house in the company of the cops who pissed off the President for putting his learned freind in handcuffs; regardless of a wise latina supreme court justice who successfully defended herself against accusations of being racist in her confirmation hearings.

You see, its all in the numbers. If 8 out of 10 prison inmates and more than half the bums in New York City or most other places in the US are black, and ALL the help in restaurants and homes are latinos/latinas - racial stereotypes will remain. Racism is a reality in this country. News reports say the President will not reveal details of the beer-talk with Mr. Gates and Mr. Crowley. Good. Why bother? I am not interested in the conversation as much as I am in the Mr. President's reasons to have this conversation at all. Is one conversation going make me less jittery about moping around in the Bronx at midnight (yes, this was attempted with consequences that were not fun)? Its nice of Mr. President to get all worked up about his bud being shackled- but what about this kid ? She was supposedly yanked out of undergraduate studies, from Harvard no less, for allegedly abetting a crime. No proof has been provided to support the assertion of the police. Mr Gates is atleast an established professor/scholar (in African American studies- may have been more interesting if his choice of subject was a tad less predictable, just a tad), this kid's future is potentially in the gutter. Beer pong any one ?

The truth is that until a sizable portion of the colored folk are uplifted in America negative/potentially deterimental stereotyping on the basis of race will persist even in ways that cannot be overlooked. Unfortunately until then, all conversations to address racial stereotyping - with or without beer- are rhetorical too.

"Away we went"

When a movie review in a respectable paper such as the New York Times comes off like its a bit on the fence, you end up feeling like the critics are just trying too hard to do their job.

Atleast, in this case, the review that seems to try too hard to dislike Sam Mendes's latest movie "Away we Go", said enough to convince me to go watch it. Besides, I guess I am something of a Mendesophile. Especially after his star-studded play "The Cherry Orchard" (originally by Anton Chekov, edited by Tom Stoppard) earlier this year.

The set up is simple- a pregnant couple sets out to visit freinds in search of the perfect environment in which to raise their child. Why? Because they are socially conditioned to think that there is such a thing as a perfect setting in which to raise a child. They are shown to run into everything from obscenity mouthing parental horror stories to zen loving, organic-food-eating self absorbed New Age drivelers to those that suffer in the quiet dissapointment of not being parents.

The movie is as unassuming and seeking as its lead characters, if a bit deliberately funny and cloying in some of its frames. You have to love the honest modesty of the characters who wonder if its a cause of worry that they have outgrown the get-a-home-and-a-mortgage stage of their life. I dig the unpretentious indie feel of the movie that among other things encourages idyllic fantasies of a free form life where you first choose the city and the freinds and then the job, and not the other way round - no discussion of this movie is complete without cubicle talk such as this. I know that was part of the movie's plan...

The point is- to me, as the one who pays to see the movie at the theater - this movie reaches its audience. When you tell stories for a living, its all about how well you tell them. So regardless of Mr. Mendes's personal opinion about the perils of living the American suburban dream or about being a New Age driveler, this is a very well made movie. That's all I care about. And the fact that it reaffirms my faith in an imperfect world.

Year 2

Married life Year 2 was celebrated camping by the ocean close to Chesapeake Bay - days were spent under the canopies drinking mimosas and relating stories to lovely freinds and to lots of mosquitoes; fragrant moonlit nights were spent sleeping under the stars listening to the sea and to the shrieks of the fishermen celebrating their crabby victories.......

The slippage of a paean shall be excused ....

A fragrant summer night bathed in the silvery moonlight,
Soft, gentle breeze hummed the Song of the Sea.

Toes entwined and fingers locked,
we sank into the sands of a million shared dreams.