Taking the express train to Kerala

Final moments in Delhi, waiting to board

I stood in the doorway of the moving express, window open as the train shuddered, slowed and squealed to a halt. Catering trolleys had already moved into place on the platform, I was hopeful and hungry, craning my neck to see what was available.

It was a nutritional nightmare. Garishly packaged crisps, biscuits and soft drinks festooned the trolleys along with the latest Indian hybrid street snack, bread pakora (white sliced, buttered, battered and fried).   

It was an overnight journey from Delhi to Rishikesh, there was no pantry car and I was empty handed.  I arrived ravenous and grumpy, putting it down to experience.

So I wised up for my current trip, a thirty three hour jaunt from Delhi to Kerala onboard the Rajdhani Express, two full days and one night. Meals, snacks and drinking water included. I had researched and planned my intinerary to perfection.

The shortest, fastest route was a flight to Trivandrum, but that didn’t feel right; as though I was cheating myself out of some magic. I was growing to love the Indian Railway experience and in particular the excitement and romance of the sleeper.

Two thalis a day, plus snacks

Two thirty in the afternoon, day one. I had left my compartment as my travelling companions had, post-lunch, tucked themselves into bed, drawn the curtains, extinguished the lights and were taking an extended nap, snoring in unison.

I located an empty berth, and sat watching the Indian countryside gliding past my eyes. Greenery, electricity pylons, an auto-rickshaw pootling along a dusty road, glimpses of corrugated roofed dwellings, nothing remarkable.

Then a beautiful flat glassy ribbon of water appeared, moving in parallel for a few minutes before widening out and becoming a lake.

As the carriage swayed, jiggled and bounced along, I closed my eyes and focussed my attention on the sounds of the train, it became a meditation. The rushing of air as we entered a tunnel becoming a roar as we emerged. The rattling of wheels on rails, metal moving over metal was regular, rythmic and comforting.

Finding personal space became a priority, I was sharing a berth with three designated companions and the guy from the adjacent compartment liked to hang out with us too. I always choose the upper berth (seats are strictly reserved in advance). It's a safe retreat and you can sit on the lower bunks during the day if you are feeling sociable.

Upper berth,  2AC class

In the upper berth opposite was Christian, a pleasant natured and attractive Italian, who true to his roots was dressed in smart denim, tan suede loafers and a white shirt that mysteriously remained pristine throughout.

Chrisian was headed to Gokarna, a temple town in Karnataka with four heavenly beaches, for the fifteenth successive year.



In his youth he travelled sleeper class, cramped yet economical. You arrive with black face, dirt everywhere, destroyed!  These days he appreciates clean linen and air conditioning.

Sunil and Prabha occupied the lower berths, now resident in Chicago, they were on a five month tour of their Motherland and were excited about seeing Kerala for the first time. They were a charming couple in late middle age and very interested in my life story, sadhana and connection to India. They spent most of the ride in a kind of sleep stasis, waking for meals, chatting for an hour or two before resuming their slumbers.

The train made several stops, an opportunity to exercise by walking the length of the platform, always with an eye on the station clock. As the hours passed and the journey progressed, I grew increasingly tired and lacking in energy. Which probably had a lot to do with the carb laden starchy meals we were served.  Sometimes I would pop out for a five rupee chai, slump onto a bench and enjoy the colourful cavalcade of passengers, coolies, vendors and mendiants congregating and swarming around me.

Madgaon station, Goa

By the time we reached Goa, lunchtime day two, I was semi-comatose through swinging blood sugar levels and lack of sleep. I stumbled out of the carriage mechanically into the brilliant midday sunshine and something unexpected and completely wonderful occurred.

In an instant, my inner being recognised the warmth, humidity, jungle greenery, bright bougainvillea and intangible mystical essence of Goa.


It felt like a home coming and I was reminded how much I loved the lush verdant south of India, benevolent and welcoming, like a mother.

A few hours later I alighted at Kannur in Kerala.  I was somewhere new, unplanned and ready for the unexpected, nerves and excitement mingling. I checked into a simple looking hotel just off the main road. As I rummaged through my day pack for my passport, the red tambourine that I bought in Delhi tumbled out and clattered to the floor.

The receptionist smiled broadly, Madam, you are musician? He enquired.

Bhakti yoga, bhajans I responded and showed him the tiny pair of hand cymbals I also carry around.

Radhe! Radhe! Radhe! He exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight. Madam is going to ashram in Kanhangad?

Yes!

Very nice place, very nice place, Madam will like!

Conversations such as these no matter how brief, go a long way when I am tired, nervous and stepping into the unknown. Small blessings that carry me forward, feeling strengthened, encouraged and very grateful.

Blessings on all our journeys!

Jennifer

Plan your virtual travel around India  www.indiarailinfo.com

Tickets need to be booked as far ahead as possible. Ideally request the foreign quota which is only available in person at railway stations at the discretion of the manager. You will need photo id ie passport.

Otherwise, use a travel agent. Indian trains are often sold out well in advance, however last minute travel is possible, there is an emergency tatkal quota bookable two days ahead for an additional fee.

Staying present, facing difficult feelings

Sharing, vision, community - Auroville

The plan was not going to plan. It was time to leave Dharamkot/Dharmashala and I was all set to travel to Auroville. I felt excited and uplifted as I contemplated the change.

Researching trains and buses and so on and reminiscing about my first stay back in 2005. I knew that it was monsoon season in Tamil Nadu and to begin with this didn't bother me.

My intention in revisiting Auroville was to take in as much community living as I could and explore in ways that weren't possible the first time, when I was fully absorbed with daily ashtanga vinyasa yoga sessions.

I envisaged myself cycling on the red dirt roads, visiting magically named communities such as Spirulina Farm, Buddha Garden, Creativite, Sadhana Forest. I was keen to volunteer at the Pour Tous food co-operative, to swim in la Piscine, to sing bhajans in the warm evenings under broad leaved banana trees. I was in love with my vision!

However the more research I did, the more I had to acknowledge and accept that if I did travel to Auroville during November, I was likely to be rained on -  a lot. I had to be very honest with myself and admit that while a day or two of rainy weather is an enjoyable contrast, the prospect of heavy rain most days, damp clothes and bedding and waiting inside for most of the day was just not going to work for me. There could be thunderstorms, strong winds and last year a cyclone. I just didn't want to chance it.

Monsoon in Pondicherry

So I let go of the plan. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go?

Rishikesh hadn't worked out, it was turning cold in the north, it was too early to head to the beach, I wanted to do something more purposeful and engaged. I was deeply, deeply stuck.

I found myself walking around McLeod, browsing the shops and wandering aimlessly. That afternoon I hiked around the surrounding hills until my legs ached. Finally, for dinner I ordered a huge thali with extras, far more than my body needed.

I had enough self-awareness to know that I was trying to avoid or escape myself. Distracting myself with activity and sedating myself with food in an attempt to hold feelings down. It was an old coping mechanism that had served me well throughout most of my life, but it doesnt really work anymore.

Back in my room at the guesthouse, finally alone with myself there was no escape. A powerful surge of emotion erupted from within, much like a volcano. Hot repressed content, buried deep now discharging itself with dramatic force.

It's all too much. This trip, it's too hard. I can't keep going. I can't manage on my own. All these decisions - it's too tiring. I've had enough, I want to go home...

Intense suffering

I sobbed and sobbed for well over an hour. Out of tissues, I covered my teary face with a washcloth.

I was frightened by the intensity of the experience, waves and waves of strong feeling were being released. As though I had accessed some primal terror, every cell of my being was expressing fear.

I wondered whether I needed to call a doctor or get some kind of help, I felt so out of control. Distressed, lonely and anxious, I eventually surrendered to sleep.

The following morning,  I awoke with a fuzzy head and gingerly opened my eyes. I was still alive. The dawn had arrived in rosy splendour and the birds were singing in the new day.   Emotionally I felt sore and vulnerable, as though I was recovering from a surgery. I knew I would have to be super sensitive and kind to myself.

The intense, scary, fearful feelings were no longer present, in their place a kind of tender self-love. It was a great relief. I acknowledged myself for what I had undergone: an emotional catharsis. I was proud of myself and thankful that no matter how disturbing and frightening, I had stayed present with myself and allowed strong feelings to come up and be released. It was some kind of breakthrough, a victory of sorts.

Gently I took myself into McLeod for my regular breakfast in Gyaki, a Tibetan cafe. I was pleased to be greeted by Olga, lively and attractive young french-portugese who had just completed Vipassana meditation retreat. We chatted most mornings over large bowlfuls of fruit and curd and chunks of cakey tibetan bread.

I risked being real and told her about my upset and anxiety and lack of direction. Olga listened attentively with warmth and understanding. I felt validated by her compassionate presence and it was a  reminder that it is safe to express myself and receive emotional support, even though I was very vulnerable. She gave me great advice, which I followed: 

It takes time and now you have been very upset so it will take a few days to become calm and clear. Let this settle, wait with it. There is no rush to go anywhere, it will all happen in good time.

After a day or two of giving space to myself and treating myself with as much love, nurture and kindness as possible, the new direction revealed itself.  A small bhakti ashram in north Kerala. Yes!  It felt right. I spent that day in a state of conscious gratitude, Thank you Thank you Thank you my continuous prayer to the Universe.

Feeling our feelings, why should it be such a drama? Early on my spiritual journey I dedicated a year to an intensive psycho-dynamic psychotherapy.  My skilled and patient therapist helped me to explore my early childhood and upbringing and we identified early on that my parents disapproved of strong emotion and that to survive, I shut down the feeling part of myself. Feelings were bad as they led to parental withdrawal, which to an infant is a survival issue.

As an adult, reclaiming this hidden part of myself feels like a gift, I want to live as a whole person, experiencing challenging, darker feelings as well as the joyful and ecstatic. I am living on the edge of myself and stretching into more of myself. It requires courage but the rewards are beyond measure: reunion with the true self and emotional freedom.

Blessings of wholeness

Jennifer

www.auroville.org

A simple Diwali in Dharamkot

A selection of the goodies on sale

Three days ago a large supply of fireworks and crackers was delivered to the village. Cardboard boxes of various sizes in bright packaging promising excitement and fun.

It was a bit of a happening: boys  of all ages crowded round as they were unloaded from a small pick-up van and displayed on a folding table outside the general store.

Whenever I passed by I would see clusters of children chattering excitedly, maybe spending a few rupees pocket money on sparklers or crackers, whilst dreaming of the larger rockets and bangers.

This was the only Diwali related commercial activity I noticed in Dharamakot, save advertisements in the newspapers entreating housewives to upgrade their kitchen appliances. Preparations were simple, householders stringing garlands of plastic flowers across doorways and paper lanterns in porches.

Late morning I was invited into the Sanctuary, a holistic spa and workshop space by the co-owners Anand and Gora.  I had met them a couple of days ago and we had chatted for ages about India and holistic therapies.

In a fusion representative of their respective ancestries (Gora is French, Anand is from Pune) we shared genuine espresso and traditional Indian sweets made with ghee and jaggery, absurdly unhealthy but an enjoyable treat. I also enjoyed the company of Kala, Anand’s precious pet Chihuahua who had been ordered on the internet and shipped to Delhi by breeders in Thailand.  

The shopkeepers and café owners of Dharamkot were in buoyant mood. At the fruit and veg stand I submitted my usual request for two bananas and held out a ten rupee note which is the regular price. The grocer’s eyes twinkled as he picked out three bananas. Happy Diwali! He laughed as he wrapped them in newspaper.

I checked in with Mohan who single handedly runs Cool Talk Corner where I eat most evenings, to see whether or not he would be opening. Today early closing. I have to make fire and puja. Can make money every day but Diwali one day only!

Instead I visited the Trek and Dine, I hadn’t eaten here before as there is a large Bob Marley poster on the wall, which is traveller code for You can smoke marijuana here.  I noticed a few other refugees from Mohan’s place, but chose a quiet table to myself.  In the street below random crackers were being launched, setting off  car alarms at regular intervals.

Back at Paul's Guest House I had a dilemma. My room really needed cleaning, I had been looking out for Jatinda who does the housekeeping all day.

Dusk was falling and festivities were about to start and I finally saw him in the common lounge as he was locking up and preparing to leave.

Happy Diwali!  I began. Jatinda smiled broadly and returned the greeting.

I'm so sorry to ask you now, but is it possible to get my room cleaned now? I ventured, embarrassed to be asking.

Yes! I do it now! In a moment Jatinda was on his feet.

I fetched some clean linen and followed him to my room on the first floor. I was baffled, taken aback by Jatinda's continued good mood. I felt sure that the timing of my request was unreasonable and inappropriate, but he clearly did not feel the same and I was deeply touched by his natural joy, happiness and generosity.

We gazed out from my balcony together as the sun set and lights began to twinkle on the hillside. Tonight all of India is celebrating!  Jatinda declared with pride and satisfaction. I thanked him effusively for his service and he left to join his family.

NASA photograph of India at Diwala from space

What should I do? I had three options. I could head into neighbouring Bhagsu village where there were two Hindu temples and get fully stuck in to the merriment. Or I pop back into Dharamakot; everyone would be out on the streets I felt sure of it. Or I could squirrell myself away and observe the celebrations from the guest house.

It was an easy choice, the view from my balcony was so lovely. I was able to watch locals visiting a tiny shrine, lighting the tiny clay lamps that give Diwali it's literal meaning (Sanskrit for row of lights).

As the night sky darkened the village lights appeared bright and cosy and then the celebrations really began.

Fireworks and crackers were fired off from all directions with unrelenting intensity. This in turn caused dogs to bark, baby goats to bleat and sulphurous smoke to seep in to my room even though I had closed the windows and shutters. It was really, really noisy. The fireworks continued into the night, past midnight I am told although amazingly I fell asleep at around ten pm.

I remember my first Diwali in India, in 2004. I was living in Mysore, studying astanga vinyasa yoga. I had arrived in early October and as such was present to a string of Hindu festivals, Navaratri, Dusshera and then Diwala. In addition to the fireworks and so on, vast speakers the size of  small dwellings were transported around the city on trucks decorated with flashing bright lights, pumping amplified devotional music and hindi hit songs throughout the night.

It was all too much, the noise was driving me insane! I used  my emergency credit card to book into an expensive ayurvedic spa retreat twenty kilometers away from the city, to be soothed by clean, cool cotton sheets and tranquility.

This year I have been holding my friends and the community of Glastonbury in my mind and heart. As Diwali is celebrated on the new moon in October, so is lunar samhain. It is a powerful time to be present in town as the veil thins and darkness is animated in ritual, song and ceremony.

It is a night of mayhem and revelry and generally I stay home for that one too. I am happy to be here where the light is celebrated.

Jyotir namaha!
May the inner light shine always

Jennifer

Heaven and hedonism in Incredible India

Colourful blessings for a safe passage

I take a daily walk into the forest that is starting earlier and earlier. I used to set out around four pm, returning as the sun begins to set. Then it was after lunch, then mid-morning.

Tomorrow I plan to get going immediately after breakfast. It’s that good. Walking in nature restores me on all levels. I always return feeling calmer, centred and uplifted.

There is a specialness to this landscape that seems to be healing and nourishing me and I relish every moment.

This walk takes about an hour. I timed myself  using the clock in the Himalaya Tea Shop in Dharamkot where the auto-rickshaw drivers drink chai while waiting for business. This is the start of the walk. Take the level path to the left of the water reservoir and keep going. 

The path begins broad and smooth and from time to time I have to step aside to allow tourist vehicles to pass, mostly mini-buses containing Indian families, who seem to prefer to be bussed about rather than walk.

Today I passed a pair of maroon robed monks who had stopped to enjoy the view and were sharing tea from a flask. A little further along an ageless brown skinned Gaddi shepherd in hand knitted sweater and woollen cap was skillfully herding his goats.

Furry forest guides

I received the blessing of a tortoiseshell butterfly dancing ahead of me in the warm, bright sunshine. Above, a stunning blue feathered bird with exquisite long tail feathers sang to his mate who responded from across the valley. 

You can’t get far on four wheels, paved concrete yields to lumpy stones and the path narrows and bends.  As you penetrate the forest you will notice basic dwellings where  Buddhist monks retreat intosilence  solitude to meditate for days, weeks and months at a time. Neatly printed signs request ‘Quiet Please’. 

An abundance of coloured prayer flags decorate the passes, impossibly strung between sturdy pines.  I was told that they carry blessings and good wishes for travellers, which is a beautiful thought.  Below on the forest floor, meticulously arranged stones and rocks form rudimentary stupa that have a peaceful quality. 

As I headed deeper into the forest, I passed a stone-cutter working with hand tools, Namaste was our mutual greeting. At the weekend, this patch is busy with noisy laughing school boys undetaking a supervised litterpick.

A little further along I was joined by a friendly pair of doggy guides who bounded ahead joyfully, disappearing finally up a steep bank to pursue an irresistible scent.

My special place in the mountains

Finally the view I had come for revealed itself: snowy peaks across a plunging valley and a scattering of rocks to sit on and absorb the panorama.

I bring myself here to meet the mountains, their presence so powerful speaks to me and fills me with something... beyond words.

I sit here a good while, tilting my face into the sunshine and sighing deeply as relaxation and bliss flow through me.

This is Dev Bhoomi, land of the Gods. Himachal Pradesh is Shiva and Parvati’s lovers’s spot, they meet here, they marry each other, they have sons, all in this area, explained Raju. Quick minded, energetic and charismatic, Raju manages the day to day running of Paul’s Guest House where I have taken a room.

I was showing him photographs taken on my walk and speaking of my rapture: I feel so peaceful and happy, I just have to take that walk every day to sit with the mountains.

Raju nodded and gave a broad smile, You feel something spiritual when you come, and your feelings come like WOW! I am happy now! 

Raju tells it as it is

He continued enthusiastically: People recognize special place. Some people stay for two months, three months, a lot of people come longterm, because they want peace, they want to think about himself, they want to be happy, they want to ponder his way.

Despite his obvious passion for Dharamkot, Raju was preparing to relocate in the coming days. He had been summoned south to spend the winter (November – March) tending bar in Goa. Party season was about to begin.

How do you like Goa? I asked.

Raju’s answer was blunt; In Goa you can’t hear your soul. The peoples who come Goa they want to enjoy, they don’t know what is real peace. They dance, they smoke, they drink beer, listen to noisiest music, girls in bikinis, girls in no bikinis. Goa is a totally crazy place.

Maybe such people should think about visiting Dharmashala, I suggest.

Raju laughed loudly, shaking his head firmly in disagreement: People from Goa cannot come here! Just you call them, ‘Come here, it’s a nice place, No drinking, no smoking, no music, nothing! Just sitting on a chair, watching the hills, come come!’ Just imagine!

I appreciated Raju’s honesty and sense of humour and that he was speaking without judgement. I know Goa well and admired his versatility at being able to move so easily between two such different worlds and told him so.

He was stoical about his circumstances: This is not my personal choice, I have to earn, I want to spend most of my time here, I love here, this is my place!

I could easily picture Raju serving drinks to pleasure seekers in sunny Goa as trance music thumped from dawn to dusk. Once again I was amazed by the diversity of experiences on offer in this magical country. Open and generous enough to accept and embrace the hippies and the Tibetan refugees and to allow these communities room to grow and flourish and integrate with traditional Indian culture.

Raju's final word, borrowing the official slogan of the Indian Ministry of Tourism: This is called Incredible India, we have everything here. 

Blessings

Jennifer

A Modern Tibetan Tale - Dhagyal's Story

Moody view from the Peace Cafe

Maybe because of the surrounding mountains, the weather here in Himachal Pradesh seems so very close, powerful and dramatic. Autumn has arrived violently, with rolling thunder that vibrates through my being and lightning that cracks so sharply it would split the sky.

Today, it rained steadily all morning. I awoke early and watched the changing panorama from my bed. Dawn was multi-coloured, the sun rose red, fading to pink. Then a delicate wash of lilac coloured the sky followed by a deepening, darkening opaque grey, foretelling the weather to come.

I meandered into town for breakfast as usual; optimistically or recklessly wearing light summer clothing, defying the mood of the sky. 

I sat for some time in the Peace Café in McLLo (McLeod Ganj) one of my fave hang outs. I come for the very good coffee and friendly service and stay for the decent collection of reading material and free wi-fi.

It’s cosy inside with small tables, the smell of espresso and warm pastries. Most days it’s busy with Tibetan Buddhist monks with laptops and smart mobiles; today his Holiness the Dalai Lama is beginning a set of teachings in the Temple and I had the place to myself. 

His Holiness is loved all over town

I decided to sit out back, under a tarped bamboo roof, open to majestic mountain views. It was chilly but dry. After some time I was joined by a smiling young Tibetan. We smiled and laughed a little, two crazies who prefer to be outside! 

I love the rain! I declared.Yes! So fresh, so cleansing!  Replied my companion, who introduced himself as Dhagyal and offered to tell me his story.

Born in occupied Tibet, Dhagyal journeyed to India via Mount Kailash and Nepal at the age of twenty, leaving his village and family. He set off in 2002 with a guide and seven young men of similar age.   

In the Tibetan calendar this was the year of the horse, regarded as highly auspicious for all types of pilgrimage and travel. 

A year later the group arrived in Dharmashala. Dhagyal spoke very warmly and enthusiastically of his reception,  After coming here I get an opportunity to go to Tibetan Trust School for four and a half years. It is very special, for Tibetan newcomers to get a chance to go to school, that there wasn’t in the Chinese High Schools. 

I was curious to know more about Dhagyal’s lifestyle. Many of the older Tibetans in Dharmashala dress in traditional costume and maintain their cultural heritage producing handicrafts and cooking regional food. 

Dhagyal, 28 Painter and barrista

Dhagyal dresses in modern sporty leisure wear and works in a coffee shop. In his free time he reads and paints. With his funky haircut, slogan teeshirt, skinny jeans, Converse canvas trainers and a hoody he wouldn’t look out of place in London, New York or Paris. And this look can be seen all over Dharmashala on Tibetan youth of both sexes.

What do you like about Dharmshala? I enquired. 

Dhagyal beamed his answer:

For me it is very necessary to be here. First to improve my English, second to awaken my mind. I meet lots of foreign people for conversation and English in the coffee shop. It is very interesting and good for my future direction. 

What is your future direction? 

I can’t say, sorry!  

Me neither! We laughed together, then I paid my bill and left.

It was a fun, easy conversation. Dhagyal was easy going, relaxed and positive and care free in the best possible way; enjoying the moment without stressing about the future. He had a strong sense of himself and was committed to self-improvement. I wish him every future success and happiness.

Out in the street, the rain showed no sign of easing and in under a minute my sandalled feet were squelching wet and my cotton harem pants were soaked through. I needed to head uphill to my room in Dharamkot, two kilometers away. 

I thought about buying an umbrella to keep me dry, but I didn’t feel like spending 250 rupees and then having to carry an umbrella around India. I took a rickshaw for 60 rupees which trundled and bumped slowly along, passing locals and tourists who were appropriately dressed in waterproofs, walking boots and so on.

Winter clothes for sale: but not for me!

In the early afternoon I took a walk in the rain: leaving the UK in late September with a return date of early Feb necessitated a warm outfit for travelling. By some minor miracle of foresight I had included a light cagoule and waterproof trousers. 

It was something of a mixed blessing. As I congratulated myself on my skilful organization, I had to acknowledge that the weather was changing and while it was fun to watch the rain from a café, indulge in a rickshaw ride and splash through puddles in my waterproofs, I couldn’t envisage staying here as the weather turned wetter and colder. 

Moreover, I have been hearing the inner voice very clearly, communicating a sense that it was time to think about moving on. So no point trying to hang on here, despite my deep fondness. A week from now it will be November and the weather will definitely turn. Ironically, the place I am thinking of visiting next could well be mid-Monsoon at this time of year, so perhaps there will be no evading the rain. 

Tomorrow I will be checking out train ticketing for what is sure to be an epic journey to the southern state of Tamil Nadu, I want to go back to Auroville. 

And so it is….

Soggy blessings!

Jennifer