The Time Has Come...

The whiskers on the dog twitch as the ceiling fan oscillates above us, the sound created is similar to that of a ticking clock, reminding me that time is passing very slowly. The air here is humid and the furniture is old. I have found myself here again, perhaps fourteen years since the last time. In Florida. Strange and bizzare Florida. I can never be sure why my Grandmother moved here, but it seems the lifestyle and the temperature agree with her. She sits on the sofa in front of me, her face obscured slightly by a small bamboo pot plant and watches a very loud, brash and slightly terrifying 'Family Fortunes'. I sit back behind the plant, take a deep breath to centre myself and remove myself partially my the noise created by the television and begin to write. 

The first five months of 2012 have been rich in substance and variety. I have worked and travelled with friends and with Abe in places I had only dreamt of being in. I have found myself in situations that have challenged me and caused me to see, question and understand myself more intimately. With people around me I have felt alone, when I have been physically alone, I have felt peace like never before and vice versa. I have pushed myself beyond any boundaries and discovered much more about the insides of my mind: about what really makes Katy tick.

During my brief adventure around some of Central America and a teeny weeny bit of North America, I have been pondering over some of the discoveries I made in the three months I had spent previously in India.

I had spent the entire of my early twenties worrying about what I was 'supposed' to be doing with my life and consequently avoiding enjoying my creativity. In India, for some reason, I learnt to calm my mind. I learnt the true value of giving up the search for the next great thing and began focussing completely on the moment. No more did I spend my nights sleepless over the concern for my lack of career and apparent lack of direction. No more. In fact, the more I chilled out, the more I found myself picking up a pencil to draw, a paintbrush to paint, a torn piece of tin foil to mould in my hands. 

I enjoyed being creative for enjoyments sake. I have not made money from my art or creations - something that in the past concerned me. I now realise that money is an abstract idea and cannot provide me with the happiness I sought in it. My creativity comes straight from my heart and is made to share with those I love. I am privileged to have been given the time to make these discoveries. In a world that can seem detached, I learnt to reattach. I discovered that my life is simple, as are my needs. But there was something still to be learnt. 

Since travelling around parts of Central America with friends and my fiancé, where I met an abundance of intriguing characters, I have returned home with every story, every encounter, every moment, metaphorically pinned to my skin as a Brownie badge to remind me of the joy that exists when existing in bliss. Living minimally from a back pack, eating delicious fruit from the hands of those who grew it, taking in the colours of the hand dyed wools and rubbing my fingers along the rough texture of aged wooden doors with huge iron hinges: I felt each moment was real and I was there to be in each moment entirely. I learnt to live to my full capacity - to live right now. 

I was fortunate to travel so freely. I left behind the self that never felt good enough to succeed and returned with a new self who learnt to relax and remove her concerns of failure and self pity. My time here is valuable. It is precious. I know that if I want my life to happen as I feel it should, I can make it do exactly that. Exist in contentment.

When I sleep, I dream of temples. I stand at the top of Temple IV in Tikal and look across the distance in awe: a forest has grown around the Mayan ruins where now only their peaks can be seen. My dream virtigo keeps me a metre from the edge but I still smile as a breeze washes over my face and through my hair. I dream of India, of the temples there where communities gather to share in each other's beliefs. Om in my ears and a pinch of red turmeric dabbed on my forehead. I feel along the carvings of the Hindu Gods, the stone is warm under the palm of my hands. I dream that I am back in Oaxaca and San Cristoba in Mexico, bartering and laughing with cheeky ladies who are selling their crafts. Sitting on the roof top of the hostals and watching as the sky turns pink and the sun sets behind the distant mountains, sharing a beer with old and new friends. I dream that I am sat on the edge of Rasta Roy's boat on the Caribbean waters, about to dive in to the warm, crystal blue waters below, ready to make friends with glittering and colourful fish. I dream of laying down on a pontoon on with Abe, the water underneath us is a mysterious cloudy white, the sky above is black and sprinkled with stars that feel so close I could reach up and grab them. I dream I am next to him, holding his hand and rubbing his fingers gently with mine. I wake up and I am back in my bed at home in the Shed and Abe is still there. He is asleep and our hands are clasped together. 

I see that my path is written a centimetre ahead of my footsteps. Keep close to it, don't drag your feet nor try to run: you may just lose yourself.

Thank you Satish Kumar

A new boost of motivation was injected into me at Sunrise festival this year when I attended a talk by Satish Kumar. A group of people formed in a small tent at the top of the festival site: all there to listen to one man speak. Intriguing I thought. I perched on the outskirts of the group and listened in to this small and slightly weathered Indian man talk. His eyes moved across the crowd and sent waves of electricity through all of us. Lightening! Though his speech was calm, his message was strong. He repeated a saying that I love very much, "Be the change you want to see in the world" which he then followed on with his own inspiring words to encourage anyone and everyone to contribute their efforts to live more compassionately with our brothers, sisters and planet. 

Since then, I felt an urge in myself to write some words down the line of a page...

And who am I

to sit and weep

while you alone

No home to sleep?

Who am I

to want for more

when your only hope

is to not be poor

To live your life

as free (?) as I do

The girl who is

juxtaposed to you.

Who am I

to dare to see

myself as individuality.

You are me

And I am you

Our lives are weaved, tangled.

It is true.

We make one

We all do.

The beauty and the magic

The pain. It is tragic.

This moment shared

Is special and raw.

No other moment

like this

has been before.

Now is the second

that we realise

that compassion

and love

will open our eyes

to opportunities

and chances

that show us what's real:

Take this moment to

burst open the seal.

You are not solo

Not alone

Not one

You are forever

Forever is your son.

It is time we see

that he is me

and she is he

and I am me.

The capacity

to be

entirely free.

my mother

my brothers

my father

my lover

my friends in Africa, India, Belize.

We are not alone in our struggle to survive

The choices we make while we're alive

Are important and impact ALL of us!

So take it slow

Love

Embrace

Next time you buy chocolate

buy fair trade

Value our unique Human Race.

Adapt just a little

(Not too much)

Think of the hearts

That you can touch.

Who am I?

This English girl?

I am the fountain of life

I'm the world

I am within

I grow on your skin.

I am the DNA that has built us to win

to sin

to fall in.

“Be the change you want to see in the world”

Give this a watch if you have a moment, I think you will enjoy. He seems a very content man.

Warrior Nana

After having spent six weeks travelling around Central America on a whirl wind adventure of exploration into new places, cultures and into the cogs that put my relationship into motion, it was finally time to go and spend some quality time with my Nana Thelma in Florida. For over thirty years she has lived in a small retirement village in Lakeland, Florida which has meant only a handful of moments have been spent with her during the past twenty-six years. As the mother of my mother, I am already fortunate to have a natural bond with her meaning that every time I walk in a room and she is there, I feel like I have come home. It is the exact same feeling I have with my own Mum. Both of these women, my Mother and my Nana have very similar traits - and I'm starting to learn that I do too. For example, while my Nana T was making sandwiches yesterday, I watched with intrigue: the way that the tuna mayonnaise was put together was exactly the same way that I had been taught by mum. A little salt, a little pepper and some vinegar to add to the taste. Simple but Delectable and exactly how I would do it. It has made me ponder about how many other similarities and differences we may have.I'm sure the short week I will spend here will shine a light on a few of these things.

Now I have become a grown-up (questionable I know),  I have felt a stronger urge to come and spend more time getting to know this incredible woman Thelma. Thelma the Trooper. She's survived a stroke which left her having to re-learn even the most basic skills, a struggle that took over a year to overcome and where she was without speech for six months. She was so determined and so strong that she found within herself, the power to paint again (she was the most skilled painter before the stroke) and is now at the same level of skill that she was before. A few years of peace and then Nana noticed a slight pain in her tummy. She made a visit to the GP and after a few tests was told that she had bowel cancer. Devastating news. But, she soldiered on and with the help and support of those around her, she took the cancer on and beat it. I hated that I could do nothing for being so far from her but was comforted by the knowledge that people were really, and truly caring for her. I know my Mum felt the same. About a year ago, Nana T's second husband Texan Jim, who cared for Nana in her darkest hours, had an accident whilst he was in hospital and he sadly passed away. I remember him for telling incredibly bad jokes. I once got him a Bad Joke Book as a Christmas present and have noticed it in Nana's house since I've been here. It's spine is all bent and it seems that book had some good use. Nana had lost her first husband, my Granddad about twenty or so years ago.

Now you'll see her zipping around her village in her golf buggy with her little dog Mitsy (who will be three years old in a few days) saying hello to all of her visor wearing, very tanned and very wrinkled friends around the pool, popping out for a bite to eat at her local haunt 'The Moose' and going for a bit of a shop on a Sunday in her Ford car. She may perhaps be struggling with her arthritis and a few other ailments, but this woman is a strong one. She has a wicked smile, twinkling eyes and a raspy laugh that I remember from childhood. From Thelma, I have seen and discovered a new form of mental strength that I never knew possible.

I sit on the roof of the house in Ambattur OT, the sun is low in the sky illuminating everything around me with an amber glow; the tops of palm trees are visible from where I am sat and droop wearily after another day enduring the Indian heat. The floor is dusty and dirties my feet; the washing line, draped with colourful bed sheets is held up with a single wooden post and tangles and untangles itself dancing with the breeze. I push my legs forward, cross my feet in front of me, lean back on to my hands, look up to the sky and my mind drifts.
Two and a half months here in Chennai; two months in South India and just over three weeks until I board the return flight back to the UK. As if having a flashback in the moments before death where one recalls their entire life, I see and feel every experience I have had in India so far. And then I ponder over what will come next.





The Work

I have spent the first two months here working on a Youth Livelihood Project. My role was split into two: one part involved me leading the junior volunteers and supporting them with with their work: a role I felt comfortable with. The other involved me researching the content to go into the Livelihoods module which would be taught to out of school youths around Tamil Nadu. This I was a little more nervous about. I worked mostly on my own and in the beginning was very uncertain of what I was supposed to be doing. Working with my Indian team was an experience: lots of laughing but at times, tedious.
My boss, with his wicked smile and intense stare used metaphors and similes in every conversation. To make any point, he would tell a huge story about something seemingly irrelevant and by the time it got to the point, I had lost track of what he was trying to say. Combined with his impossible accent, this made my start with the charity quite slow. In time, I got to understand what was being asked of me and even began taking on the Chennai accent in my own way.  I carried out needs assessments in different areas of Tamil Nadu to try and understand the needs of those I would be working with. From this I began to understand the direction of the work I would be doing. It soon began to flow; like a smooth running river with a destination to get to and a deadline to meet; like a roll of fresh green turf spread across a new lawn. It was great; I enjoyed this new found flare in myself. I believe it is called professionalism. I thrived on it, took on challenges and embraced new ideas. Seeing myself in this role reminded of my capacity and potential to achieve all that I aim to achieve; it reminded me to overcome my barriers and endure to see the truth.

A bump in the road...

A week before I was due to deliver this module to the junior volunteers, my time had come to suffer the dreaded Delhi belly that I had long heard of. And it was worse than I could ever imagine. My body, pale and exhausted, took no nutrients and had no desire to. For just over a week I was very unwell. I sat in a bed next to another of the volunteers who suffered the same ghastly illness, we kept each other company for just over a week. The training was postponed. By the sixth day of this feverish parasite illness that sapped all of my energy, I made the decision to go to hospital. I was weak and dizzy and vaguely remember stuffing my rucksack with many irrelevant items and a clean pair of pants.Vadivelan had called me an auto rickshaw, My Knight in Shining Armour. He, a solid block of a man with a heart as gentle as a purring kitten and a smile bigger than his face, took my hand and led me to the vehicle. Phew! We sat together as the auto rickshaw buzzed through the streets of Velore, dodging big trucks, cows, cyclists and chai stalls; the noise of the city was lost to me. My head was a space where no sound entered and no thought was created. I felt numb.
We arrived at the hospital nearby and floated in to the waiting room. After a few minutes we were seen to. I'm not sure when it began, but soon after we had arrived, I began sobbing quietly to myself. The doctors, nurses and Vadivelan reassured me all was well, but all I could do was weep. I wept because I was weak and I wept because I was scared. The hospital, as lovely as the staff were, was not in the most hygienic state. Grunts, sniffles and moans later and I was eventually moved to a bed. A bed in a nice, clean room. My nerves calmed and I lay down on the bed and took a deep breath. A nurse called Girija came into the room like an angel from heaven, she held in her hand my new supply of life: an I.V. saline drip. In the needle went into the pumping blue vein in my right forearm, a stab of pain. Then the drip was attached my a long thin tube to the needle jutting out from my arm. I watched as the liquid slowly made its way from the bag to where the tube met the needle and I sank deeper into the bed. Relaxed. I knew that in a matter of a few hours, this horrible illness would leave my body; I would be able to eat, drink and sleep without the worry of being ill again.

Back on track...

I was now behind on my work, but very eager to complete it speedily in order to give the training the next day. A day on the computer in a small and sweaty internet cafe, costing 75 rupees helped me to gather some extra information and I was ready.

I delivered the module to the junior volunteers in one day. There was a lot of information to take on board but I felt one day was sufficient for them to receive that information. I felt relaxed in the delivery and though there were areas that could be adapted, it was mostly successful. It was an experience that has helped me to feel more comfortable in the role of 'facilitator'.
The junior volunteers took on what they needed and planned to prepare their resources to go in to the field. They were equipped with lesson plans and materials to help them carry out workshops in rural communities to help empower unemployed youth and teach them new skills such as; soft skills, Career/Business Development, CV writing, Interview skills and information on Government Schemes available to them.

After a week of preparing their resources, the junior volunteers prepared to head out to work in their communities. I joined fellow West Country girl, Katie to her allocated group near Chenglepet. Three train journeys, a bus ride and ride on the back of a motorbike and arrived in Mullipakum, a small rural village near to Chenglepet. I had visited before to carry out the needs assessment of the area and was happy to return. It was beautiful; beyond words, it was truly beautiful.

Aside from the work we would be starting here, this space, this community is where my heart was yearning to be in India. Similar to my life changing moments in Africa, I had found myself here in Mullipakum, with real people. Real, raw and simple. It was life stripped bare of all pretense. It was pure.

I awoke in the morning to the sun in my eyes and a peculiar noise in my ears. I peeled my body away from the plastic covered mattress, rubbed my eyes and noted a green parrot sitting at the window; I smiled. It squawked proudly from its perch a song missing its harmony, then off it swooped across the lush green fields of rice. I followed it as it flew, my eyes touching on new images with every second; men and women, draped in sarees and lungis bent forward in the fields, huge, horned bovine being pulled by tiny old ladies, goats and chickens running freely, palm trees reaching high in to the sky, hairy coconuts littered on the ground underneath them, a stream of irrigation water with no sign of pollution in it. The air was fresh.

The week I spent in Mullipakum was the best I have spent in India. This is where I am happy. No noise from over populated cities; just peace. No pollution littering every free space available with smells that burn like acid through my skin. No people shouting, touching, staring aggressively. It was entirely peaceful. And the people I did meet had a calming effect on me. Of course they were interested by the strangers in their village, but there was no anger in their eyes; no fear. We were existing together in this village with a language that consisted of smiles and energies that exuded warmth.

During the days we would meet with people in the village:
We visited a local farm where we played with animals and ate with the family who lived there. We walked through their fields of watermelons and beans and played volleyball (embarrassingly poorly) with their children. The kindness of these people grabbed me by the heart and left a hand print that will always be with me.

We traveled by hitching rides in the trailers of tractors and ate slices of watermelon from roadside stalls. At 2 rupees a piece, it would have been a sin not to indulge.

We visited schools and played games with the shoe less children who with their gap toothed grins showed joy at our presence. We shared words by pointing out objects and animals and named them in English and Tamil. We played games of 'Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes' and 'The Hokey Kokey' and enjoyed every minute of it; myself, I feel, more than the children.

In the evenings we worked with our Livelihoods Group. With a focus on Career Development, Soft Skills, CV Writing and Interview Skills, I observed the sessions and facilitated others and loved the process of seeing everyone in the group develop in confidence. The junior and national volunteers included.
To see what I had planned in action and to see it working effectively with all participants being engaged, I felt a sense of pride wash over me that helped to build my confidence and has enabled me to see my potential even further. This weeks achievements will stay with me and guide me throughout the course of my life: I am capable.

On the last night, after an interactive and engaging session on Interview Skills, one of the girls, Ramini, presented us with red roses from the bush outside of her house. They were tied to branches of pine trees with white twine; I felt the importance in this occasion. We all stood together and Ramini spoke; she expressed her happiness at us coming to her village and her original fears of having strangers come to teach; she told us that the skills we had taught are invaluable to them and will stay with them always; she said she felt like she has gained sisters and she was sad to see us leaving. A small tear trickled town from my left eye and I brushed it away. I shared with them words and Katie did too. I was grateful to have shared a moment of their life with them; Their life so pure, so innocent, so different in just a small moment has assisted me in my journey in an incredible way. In them I see a peacefulness that is attainable within everyone.



In this country, I hoped to develop myself spiritually and do so through meeting people who could talk to me about the way they live their lives. Though my experience here has involved struggles and strife, I have also had the opportunity to be involved in situations with have provided me with a deeper insight in to the lives of those who live simply and within their means. Inspirational and thought provoking.

I have learnt in India.




I came here with certain objectives I felt needed to be met whilst in this country. I have been drawn to India for many years and I felt it could help me to understand new ways of seeing and understanding the world. This restlessness within myself has been calmed in the last few months as I have realised that I need not be in any particular place to feel complete. I was forever searching and through encounters with people here in India, I have learnt to stop that search. All I need is right here with me. There is of course more knowledge to be gained, more experiences to be had, but these come with time. I do not need to wish for them to hurry along.

I feel very relaxed.

The sun is setting in the distance over the houses of Ambattur and the night sky is becoming visible. I get up from where I have been sitting, stretch up high, reach towards the sky, stand on my tiptoes then touch back down onto my heels. I walk towards the steps to leave the roof. I turn back to where I had been sitting, smile and leave.

WE GIRLS ROCKZZZ

Scrunched up in the corner, feet tucked underneath me, bags of tea leaves piled up beside me, forced between an open train door and a group of women, I feel peace. Travelling towards Thiravullur at a very fast pace, I watch as lakes and half built houses zip past me back towards the hustling and bustling of the city. The air feels fresh as it washes over my skin.

The reason I find peace here, on this train, with all of these women is exactly that. Women: Beautiful women surrounding me. Old, young, big, small, rich, poor: All women who represent their culture so vibrantly and proudly. It is subtle but at the same time, very powerful.  Bright patterned sarees, wedding toe rings, henna on their hands, gold chains, gold earrings, big green or brown twinkling eyes and even bigger smiles. These are the women that, and with these staring eyes I am given a huge sense of protection. This is a women only carriage and here is where I feel safe.

The passing weeks, India has offered me many opportunities to develop my understanding of how it works from the insides out. As I have read previously and before arriving, here is a world of contradictions, a world of opposites. Though harmony and unity exist, there are aspects of this culture that disturb me, on a personal level, very deeply.

I have found that alongside the beauty and diversity in the culture, there is also pain and fear. This can be seen in the dark hours, when a man lays his head to rest on the pavement next to a pile of nostril-offending rubbish and a large cow, dogs sniffing around him. 

This can be seen in the eyes of children whose only words to communicate with me are 'Money' and 'children', followed by a small hand thrust in my direction. 

Once, a young girl greeted me with these words and gestures. I had no money and even if I had done, did not want to give it. I felt no guilt. Instead, pity. These children work with money all day and although I understand very much that they need it to survive, I also see money as a dirty, dirty thing. I took her hand and walked over to where her brother was playing in the sun next to the moat around a fort. I picked up their kite and joined them whilst they expertly pulled their kite into the sky and watched it soar. The kite, their spirits and mine were lifted. A moment was shared there that was worth more, much more, than money. 

The train gets closer to Thirravallur and I watch as the surrounding fields grow more populated with buildings and people and the smells grow more intense and varied.

My thoughts drift to a time of more darkness in a land that asks us to project light: After leaving the office in the evening, I found myself wearily walking the streets to get to my bus stop. The usual cheer was subdued as I thought only of my bed. I had been sat at a computer most of the day, it was older than me, making the process a very slow one. The work I had been doing was becoming clearer and I was enjoying arranging a livelihoods project for children who were not able to attend school, but at that moment, I was very, very tired.

The 248 bus to Ambattur pulled up, heaving with passengers; men even hanging from the doorways, children passed over rows of seats to sit on strangers laps. It was very busy. I somehow managed to squeeze myself on. Despite my British politeness in declining a seat, a sweet elderly man insisted I took his seat and gently pushed me into his place. As I sat, I noticed the young boy in the seat next to me was staring at me. The staring eye is always on the white skinned lady here. Usually I will beam a smile in that eye's direction and have one returned, but today, this smile left me feeling a little uncomfortable. I looked forward and was quite grateful to not be having a conversation. As the bus moved forward I noticed my eyelids growing heavier and heavier until I was eventually in a deep sleep. Even the colossal bumps and holes in the road and the noise of the inexhaustible horn burning into my ear drums could not stop me from my urge to find peace in slumber. I drifted. And I drifted quickly, my head nodding with each movement of the bus. This would be a sleep I felt I would never wake from. Alas, with one great jolt, my eyes were forced to open slightly and brought my awareness back to being on the bus. I peered around through my squinted eyes, my vision blurry. Happy that all was well, I let myself back to sleep. As I drifted this time, I began to think back, perhaps everything wasn't well when I opened my eyes last. I thought I noticed a small hand touching me, but my thoughts were overpowered by the need to sleep and off I drifted again. 'There couldn't possibly have been a hand touching me. The boy next to me was only young, wasn't he?' My thoughts circulated. Another jolt of the bus and again I was momentarily awake: The small hand I noticed was definitely touching me. Young, but old enough to make poor judgements. ‘HOLY CRAP!’ My voice weaved itself through all of the passengers to make sure it would be heard by all the ears there. I felt slightly embarrassed of my outburst but more disgusted and violated at what had been happening whilst I was sleeping. I moved myself as much as I could towards the edge of the seat and used my elbow to move this little opportunist, this little Horror's hand away from me. There was no space to stand and I did not want to be standing squashed in between yet more men so I had to sit. Waiting to get off the bus. Awake and aware and feeling horrified. 

The Bus

I see you
Seeing me
I hear your breath
I want to leave

Too close you stand
Too close to me
Don't stare that way
In my mind, I plead

All other eyes
They look this way
They can't see
You watch your prey

They are busy
Noticing me
'White lady from West
she's full of unrest'
But they cannot see
Him watching me

Watching me
Waiting for me
Mr. Opportunity

The crowds ease
And I squeeze
Myself away from
All this smut
This sleaze

Free at last
Though not for long
For on the next bus
Another one

Another man
To make me feel
Violated
My every wheel
Inside it stops
I pause
I hold breath
I shudder
I hide
I pray for the moment
This will slide

Slide into
A great abyss
I'm free to simply
Enjoy life's bliss

Meet with others
Beautiful and true
And glide above
The oceans blue

I used to believe that all people were beautiful, in some ways this is still true. We all have the capacity to be beautiful. To exist in harmony with others, to act responsibly and accountably, to enjoy life and enjoy each other.  But our intentions can never be known to anyone, truly, to anyone other than ourselves. I have learnt; to act with caution when meeting others, to be open but do not give too much of myself and to allow people the time to prove their beauty to me. If a person proves otherwise I have learnt to accept that and not to feel the urge to change a thing, but remove them, as the obstacle they act as from my life and learn from the encounter.

So India, a land I have always felt drawn to has shown me beauty and ugliness. It has forced me to consider this question...

Good, bad, light, dark, happiness, sadness, togetherness, loneliness, peace, fear, beauty, ugliness, calm, anger: all a balancing act. And when the world is out of balance? Can you feel the world and all of its possibilities through all of these moments? Even when the universe is showing you that the sky has turned thick black and red, the land is arid where nothing grows, the sea has turned to tar, the birds have lost their song. Even in these moments, can you laugh at life?

I am now more observant on public transport and urge any woman travelling on their own in busy places to be very cautious and trust no men until they prove to you otherwise. Not all men are predators, this is not what I am trying to say. Some men are beautiful. I am just asking that you act cautiously.

Back here, on the train in the women only carriage, I share smiles and kind gestures with the women around me. I practice counting in Tamil and play peek-a-boo with babies. I shake hands and have photographs taken on countless camera-phones. Here, I feel safe and I can only imagine that in this space, these women feel it too.

A lady selling hand-made jewellery looks over to me with a great big smile, reassuring me that all is well. And yes. All is well. Even in the darkness, there is a brightness that breaks through and engulfs everything in its path.  

On the wall opposite me is written in black pen, ‘WE GIRLS ROCKZZZ’. 

Yes, yes we do!

The train pulls in and I begin to get ready to alight for another day of work/exploration of India.Crazy India.

Vanakam

An hour bus journey and then into work. So much morning traffic noise it is difficult to retain peace… I tried to focus on my breathing – it helped. I hopped off the bus and weaved my way through the traffic. I found myself drifting towards a coffee kiosk. A well-built man wearing a ‘lungi’(piece of material covering the lower part of the body, much like a skirt), poured me a small glass of hot sweet milk with a hint of coffee flavor and took 6 rupees from my hand. I sipped away and began to feel the noise of the traffic drift into the background.

 The eerie sound of a man singing from within an enclosed shrine across the road enchanted me. I finished my coffee and made my way over to investigate. It was a shrine for worship of the god Ganesh: The Protector (with an elephant’s head). A family sat around the shrine handing out bowls of food to everyone who passed. It was their son’s first birthday. I said hello to the young boy, who, like most other children I’ve met here seemed incredibly shocked to see me and buried his face in his mother’s shoulder. I laughed and took the food happily.After eating the dish of mushy rice with cashew nuts and fennel seeds I slipped off my shoes and waited outside the shrine until I was allowed to enter. The priest who had been singing, wore only a lungi, and had a red and white powders across his brow. He beckoned me in.

It was a small space and I had to duck my head to get inside. The air was cool and my nostrils filled with the smell of incense. I took my place next to a statue of Ganesh which was painted black and adorned in bright flower garlands. It left me with a two curious conflicting feelings; that of being in the presence of something powerful and great but also that of serenity and peace. The priest, (only of the Brahman caste*) lifted a plate with two bowls and a candle to me and welcomed me to carry out my worship. I put my hands together and proclaimed ‘Nandri’ to the priest then turned to Genesh and bowed my head. I dipped my finger in the first bowl: red turmeric and lemon powder. I placed a red dot in the centre of my forehead between my eyebrows. I then moved to the next bowl: a white chalky powder. This I rubbed across my brow leaving behind a white stripe. The priest beamed a warm, toothless smile and then handed me two flowers from the statue’s garland for me to put in my hair.

Before I left I placed my hand above the flame of the candle until my hand was warm and washed this heat over my head from my forehead to the back of my neck.

I felt immediately relaxed and made my way out of the cool shrine into the warm heat of the sun. Three men stood waiting to come into the shrine and as I passed, they told me ‘Very good! Very good!’

I slipped my shoes back on and made my way to work.

Every day in this wonder-land I find myself in a new, magical, fulfilling situation. Every day, something new grips me by the heart and makes me smile.

*The Brahman caste is the high end of the Castes. A caste represents a social status. When a Hindu is born into that caste that is where they are destined to be. The Brahman are the only caste that can be a priest, doctor etc and they are untouchable by all other castes. This is something that still stands strong in Indian culture, but can also prohibit the lower castes from developing themselves. Different castes cannot be in a relationship and cannot marry. If they were to do this without their family’s consent, they would be shunned and have to leave their community.

My morning visit to the shrine

This is Ganesh: Son of Siva and Parvati, brother to Murgam.

His story goes like this: One day, Parvati, wife of Lord Siva sat down to meditate. She asked Ganesh to watch over her so she could be peaceful. So, that is what he did. His father Siva soon came and tried to to see his wife, but Ganesh would not let him in. He didn't want to defy his Mother's orders. This angered Siva so much that he cut of Ganesh's head. Parvati emerged from her meditation and, as you would expect, was extremely distraught. She cried and she cried 'How could a father do this to his son?' Siva, seeing the tears in his wife's eyes, saw the error in his ways and was ordered by Parvati to fetch her son a new head. Lord Siva then sent his army to source a new head for his son Ganesh. He demanded that they find a suitable head that was looking North. The army looked all over the land and could not find a single person facing North. They were worried that this would enrage their god. They looked far and wide until they came across a heard of elephants... facing north. Using great intuition, they selected one of the elephants, cut off it's head and returned to their god. Siva placed the head upon Ganesh and thus he was reborn: Ganesh, The Protector.