Murphy's Law

Every time we are on a long road trip, I have this perpetual fear of the car breaking down, stranding us somewhere before we reach our destination. It doesn't matter that we have a brand new car or that the brand and the model are reliable and have great performance reviews. It is especially hard to quell the fear of not making it to the airport on time. I have to fight the urge to be there hours ahead than is reasonably required. I conjure up every possible thing that could go wrong before we reach the airport and then worry about something happening that I hadn’t thought of or expected. I know it is irrational and I think it stems from incidents that occurred during my childhood while traveling in India in my dad's car. It didn’t happen every single time and there never was a time when we didn’t make it to our destination. But it has happened enough times to leave its mark :-)

Ok here is the flashback....Our journey always starts the same way and at mostly the same time - before sunrise. My dad is great at keeping everything on schedule for our road trips. We wake up in the wee hours of the morning, get ready, pack the car and leave when it is still dark outside. The intention is to beat the busy morning traffic and reach our destination on or before time. Dad is a great driver. He minds the traffic rules and still makes good time.

As soon as we leave the neighbourhood, dad (or sometimes mom) turns the religious music on - for an auspicious start and a smooth journey. I, on the other hand, would have loved to hear some upbeat, popular movie songs to get me out of the grogginess and enjoy the ride. But I have to listen through at least one entire side of the cassette tape (remember those?)  of these uninspiring (or so it seemed) songs. We (my sister and I) were reprimanded even if we merely suggest that we skip the incantations and move onto the fun stuff.

I love watching the stars sparkling in the light of dawn and then fading away as the sun inches up. The morning rays through the car window already feel strong and bright. And I can feel the heat of the day starting to rise with it. One of my favorite times of the day to be on the road has just ended. We are now listening to enjoyable music and I am happily taking in the scenery outside from within the comfort of the car. Despite the seemingly tranquil atmosphere in the car, I cannot help but feel the worry lurking right below the surface. A feeling that something is going to go wrong.  

Every kilometer without incident, we are that much more closer to our destination. Sometimes we would pack our breakfast from home and have a picnic at the roadside. We eat our breakfast in, out or around the car. Dad always picks a quiet spot, under the shade of a huge banyan tree or a tamarind tree. It feels good to see the highway stretching far ahead lined on either side by these grand old trees. There is a sense of peace and quiet except for some occasional vehicle whizzing by. On occasion, we would stop at a restaurant for breakfast instead and though it cuts down on our journey time, I look forward to the experience of enjoying some greasy food even if it aggravates my terrible motion sickness.

After all of us are satiated and energised, we start back again. And then it happens! Just when I am lulled by the food, music and the steady sound of the tires gliding on the road. When I am least expecting it. In a nice highway boulevard usually where there are no vendors peddling their wares and no shops but just an occasional motorist passing by. We hear a strange noise from the car or dad feels something strange about the car and he stops to check it out. It's either a flat tyre, an alternator problem, a fan belt rupture, an engine problem or something that I have no clue about. All our excitement of being on the road comes crashing down. Dad has to somehow find a way to either fix the car and get us back on the road or find an alternative to get us to our destination if the car can't be repaired fast enough. He either walks to the nearest town or stops someone passing by in a two-wheeler so he could hitch a ride and find a mechanic close by. During these times, I have never ever seen dad lose his patience or let out his frustration on us. He met our impatience with reassuring words - that gene must have become dormant in me. With me impatience begets impatience :-)

We wait till the car is fixed, usually inside the car itself while the hunt for the part is on.  Sometimes it would be over in a short while, like a flat tyre that my dad would take care of by himself, but other times we would have to wait longer. I wonder now how we passed our time. I don’t remember much about it. We didn’t bring any books along, didn’t have any music or gaming devices. Maybe we just talked, observed and talked some more.

Once the car is fixed, we would all quietly get back in and continue on our journey. Hoping that our car would take us through the rest of the journey without incident. We wouldn't have the music on in case we get distracted and miss any telltale noise of a breakdown, if it happens again. We are finally closer to our destination, either a hotel to stay for the night or thankfully, our final stop. It is with such relief that I realize that we will make it to the destination, after all.

Now, when we visit our parents and when my dad takes us on a trip, it is an uneventful journey - no car trouble, no delays. But I can’t seem to shake the anxiety of being stuck, somewhere remote.. far from any help....unable to make it to our destination.....

Morning view

Waking up early is never hard when I am on vacation. So I am up at 5 and wait for the dawn to break so there will be enough daylight for the morning run. The path is a paved road about 6 feet wide and narrows down about halfway through and stretches for over 4 kms. It winds between acres and acres of farmland and ends at the base of a mountain. The terrain is uneven and the gradients feel higher than what I am used to. Or maybe it is the humidity that makes it seem harder or maybe it is all that food I have been gorging on for the past few days :-)

Before leaving for my vacation, this is the exact visual I had in mind (helped by my past visits) when I decided to sign up for the first 5k of my life. A perfect setting for a beginner runner - on vacation and with no stress of a work day. No morning rush, someone else taking care of the cooking and the cleaning and the best part, training to run right in the middle of nature. Perfect! Can’t get any better! At the beginning, I run in fits and starts but get better surprisingly quickly. The cool morning air helps keep my exhaustion level in check and I can run longer without stopping for a break. Every 50 yards or so, I try to spot something that stands out and set that as a marker, mentally, so I can run just a bit longer to reach that mark before I take a breather. Anything would suffice for a marker - a farmhouse, a lamp post, a bunch of potholes, a bend, a farm gate, anything. Anything to keep my gaze ahead and to keep running. I don’t listen to music during my run, not out of choice entirely. So I observe the surroundings and take in the sights, sounds and the smells.

All around me and in different stages of growth are the sugarcane fields, mangroves, coconut groves, vegetable crops, banana groves and corn fields. And something new I noticed this time, a brick kiln. There is a bustle of activity in some of the farms - a crop harvest, irrigation or preparation for the next round of cultivation. But most of the farms are quiet this time of day, when the vegetation is left alone, to do its part.

I pass a few people who are actually heading back from their morning walk just as I am starting out. I also pass people who are on their way to work (in the farms). But walking to work seems to be a rarity nowadays. People prefer to commute faster and so use mass transportation. They go packed in autorickshaws, motorbikes, tractors and vans with music blaring. Maybe all that noise helps them wake up. Some still go the old-fashioned way and are riding on bullock carts and bicycles. For the first kilometre or so, I have to move aside and give way for the vehicles on the road. Thankfully as I go further along, I hardly come across any. Some passers by cast a curious glance, some stare, some stop and say hello and inquire as to who I am. Once, I even got a suggestion from a stranger on how to walk effectively without resorting to running and getting all out of breath. I nod and agree with a polite smile. I try to follow the advice about the walking, but I certainly didn’t stop running :-)

I notice other sentient beings around - turkeys, chickens, goats, dogs and cows. Every time I pass a farmhouse with the turkeys wandering about, they seem agitated and aggressive. I see them rush and peck at the chickens with their feathers all spread out. They seem like such bullies and they scare me so. A couple of times, I stop and move around them making a wide arch just to increase the distance between myself and them and to avoid eye-contact :-) I wonder who is more scared - them or me. And then there are the dogs, plenty of them. The minute I see one, I freeze. They bark at me and in the quiet of the morning, their barks make me feel like an intruder. After the first few days though, I get bold enough to shoo them off. They halt, look at me, then just turn around and get back to the farm. Or they would just get off the path and into the farm even as they see me approaching. Maybe they are getting used to seeing me or maybe I don’t seem all that menacing anymore.

Further down the path, I take in the scenery without being distracted by the people, the animals or the traffic. The fields are framed all around by mountains. When the sunshine hits the ranges, the mountains have a beautiful orange-brown glow to them. On most days though, it is cloudy and the mountains have a grayish-blue hue with patches of green all over and these turn into tall trees as I get closer.

I am also acutely aware of the smells around me. A few of them are strong and offensive, like the vehicle exhaust. But some are earthy and fragrant even, like the smell of sugarcane, wet soil, sugarcane juice, smoke from burnt sugarcane stalks, almost ripe bananas and mangoes. Although, I have to tell you, I still haven’t made up my mind about one of them - I can smell it about 100 yards ahead. It is a big mound of organic fertilizer (a nice way of saying manure), by the edge of a banana plantation. I am glad that it is not a big mound of bags of chemical fertilizer, but I still try to hold my breath until I am way past it.

I am constantly glancing down the road so as to avoid taking a tumble over the obstacles strewn all over the path - dead coconut branches, coconut shells, sugarcane husks, potholes and puddles of water. And of course, I can't help scanning the ground for snakes and other unseen-but-never-the-less-existing crawlies. My suspicion gets a firm hold when I hear the sound of something scurrying between the tall sugarcane stalks. Now my ears are all perked up.

It gets much quieter except for the sound of birds. I don’t see them as much as I hear them - crows, ravens, mynahs, cuckoos, peacocks and other colorful birds that I don't know the names of. Once a while, I hear cowbells, a distant motor pumping water from the farm well, dogs barking, insects chirping, loud chatter of people working in fields afar and water gushing from irrigation pipes (another of those things that are a rare sight, signifying changing times, but this time for the better. It’s giving way to drip-irrigation - a popular and effective system for water conservation). But for these sounds, it is just the scrunch-scrunch of my shoes on the gravel and the sound of my breath. I wish I could capture the stillness, the wonderful sounds of nature and a sense of quietude that arises from such an idyllic setting. It is so easy to forget that I am just a few miles from the madness of traffic and the hustle of a busy town.

Just past the last coconut grove is a jackfruit tree. I see some ponies tethered to it, grazing. It is the end of the trail and there is no other option but to either climb up the mountain or to turn around. For now, I turn around. It feels good to have reached the end of the trail and the feeling of accomplishment spurs me on to run longer on my way back.

Book Review

A time to keep silence - by Patrick Leigh Fermor 

It is a book about the observations of travel writer Patrick Leigh Fermor of monastic life during his brief sojourn in 4 different monasteries. Three of the monasteries are in France and the last one is in Turkey. The first 2 are Benedictine - St.Wandrille & Solesmus, the third is a Trappist monastery - La Grande Trappe and the last one is in Cappadocia.

The introduction by Karen Armstrong sets the stage for being open minded about religious traditions and the common pursuit of spirituality across religions.

The author’s description of the landscape, architecture, the history of the monastery, the monks and their philosophy is erudite. There is a lot of theology covered in such a short book.

It was difficult to read some of the conversations the author had with the monks as they were in French and I don’t know the language. Also, it took a lot of effort to follow some of the theosophical history narrated in the book. A lot of historical names were unfamiliar to me. I could only recognize a few names of canonical Saints and political figures. It helped to look up some of them in Wikipedia.

Of all the monasteries, St.Wandrille was the most appealing to me. I could easily picture myself there. Their peaceful quietude, benevolence and self-sufficiency is every one's quest - within or without the monastic walls. I am as baffled by the Trappist monastery as the author in trying to understand the reasoning behind the following of this branch of the Rule of St.Benedict. Though I can attempt to understand their vow of silence, their physical austerity is too exacting and to me incomprehensible. The Cappadocian monasteries, though not inhabited, are a must see place in my mind, if not for the amazing architecture by the earliest monks in Christendom, then at least for the surreal landscape and the cave paintings that transport one to a different epoch.

Yoga Journey

You are bound to hear about its benefits more commonly these days. It’s so popular that you will encounter a dozen or more variations of it wherever you go. You will find no dearth of resources, articles and teachers. Someone you know or maybe a friend, or a friend of a friend or you yourself are a huge proponent of it (I know I am). It originated centuries ago and is still relevant in today’s world. If you haven't guessed it already, I am talking about yoga. The panacea, not just as a  form of exercise but as a philosophy of life, rings true to many. In essence, it is a spiritual practice of being, not doing. Yeah right, easier said than done!

Like most practices, people come to yoga to be cured of some malady, be it physical, mental or emotional. And so did I. To be rid of debilitating sciatic pain from an accident. When allopathy and physiotherapy didn’t help, my boss at that time suggested I learn yoga as he believed that it helped him with his lower back ache. So I decided to give it a try. My guru was a wonderful teacher - thorough and exacting with a good sense of humour. He taught hatha yoga and introduced me to Patanjali’s eight limbs of yoga. His focus was mainly on three of those - pranayama, asana and meditation. His class format seemed very natural and is something I follow to this day in my practice. But at that time, I viewed yoga as something that would teach me physical prowess and bestow sage-like demeanour. From all the testimonials I heard from yoga practitioners around me, though few and far between, it seemed to be something magical. If I practice it every day, I deduced, then I would see results that would amaze me and those around me. Nothing of that sort happened. First of all because I didn’t practice it every day. Second of all, I realized quickly that it is not a magic wand that turns people into beautiful, graceful creatures with sparkling eyes who walk around with a halo over their head. Not exactly. I understood that it is a hard practice that takes a lot of effort and time, a lifetime, in fact.

In a few months of having started my yoga lessons, I had to leave India. I continued my home practice on and off following the diligent notes I had taken during my guru’s instructions. I wanted to resume learning but didn’t find any teachers for a few years. I would manage to attend a class or two once in a rare while but didn’t grow much in my practice. And then….it’s popularity surged and there were yoga studios cropping up everywhere. My practice was sporadic to say the least, but my inspiration grew and I started seeking out resources online, attending classes and reading books on yoga philosophy. Like a sponge I soaked in anything and everything about asanas. When some of the discourses on yoga philosophy felt esoteric and beyond my understanding, I ignored it. When a few experts encouraged religious chanting, I avoided it. Instead, I kept it at the physical level - annamaya kosa (the physical sheath), the first layer in the many layers/sheaths of yoga practice. I decided that when I am ready to delve deeper into the spiritual and philosophical part of the practice, I would know.

And so my practice moved on, albeit in fits and bouts. I started exploring the different styles of yoga to see which would suit me best. Of the three styles I tried - Iyengar, Vinyasa and Power, I liked the vinyasa style the best as it seemed to teach grace in movement, like dance. Power Yoga classes were a good workout and though I came out of those sessions feeling lighter (and sometimes lightheaded), I found it hard to get to the meditative aspect of the practice. Iyengar style is demanding and I think important, if you want to understand proper alignment in asana practice.

As time went on and I had made it a regular practice, I unwittingly, moved onto the next phase - where, whenever I found myself frazzled and my mind a muddle of incongruent, disjointed thoughts, a palpable feeling that I should get on my yoga mat would arise until I could no longer ignore it. Time and place didn’t matter, bare floors didn’t matter. It was wonderful to be able to feel the need to get moving when, I remember, not so long ago, how badly I was prone to lethargy. I grabbed the opportunity and acted on it consistently enough that now if I miss a day or more of getting on the mat I feel anxious to get back on it again.

There was a lot that I gained from yoga - physically, emotionally and spiritually. To list a few ( and I will try not to sound like a quack with a cure-all salve) :  I am cured of sciatica; have a better immune system; learnt the mindful approach to eating and motivation to be physically active - both of these, by the way, contributed to losing a few unhealthy pounds; more aware of emotions; understand that behaviour patterns can be learnt and unlearnt (through samskara); an overall sense of well being, not to mention that I am a better person to be around. None of these happened overnight and neither are they a given for the rest of my life. This is where I find myself now. It’s a much better place than I have ever been in, in all these years of my life. And I attribute all of these to my practice.

That is not to say that I am an expert now and that I breeze through practice with little effort and fewer challenges. Just the opposite, in fact. There is so much more to learn and to my surprise, instead of evading them, I have (uncharacteristically) ploughed through them. Here are a few challenges that I have encountered along the way......

• Getting on the mat/newspaper/bare floor..whatever :

One of my favorite yoga teachers always started the practice with intention. She would give an anecdote, wonder what its message was and engage us to ponder. Nothing definite or profound, just an observation and an invitation to keep an open mind. It’s a beautiful way to start the practice. It helps me to disengage myself to the expectation of how I should look in an asana and instead let the energy flow. And when I find myself at times setting a more egotistical intention of holding a stable headstand a little longer than usual, I have learnt to accept that as well.

• On the mat:

Until I started a regular practice, I was blissfully ignorant of the many struggles I would face on the mat. I found out that it is always easier to keep my focus when I am learning a new asana or a routine or when I am following a teacher’s instruction. But once I get comfortable enough and get the routine/asana down pat, my practice switches to auto-pilot and my mind embarks on a sojourn. It ricochets effortlessly from one thought to another and before I know it the innocuous ‘what do I pack for my my kids’ lunch?’ ends up in me ruminating over where and how to travel next for the long weekend that is months away. So by the end of it when I am ready to sit for meditation, it feels like my mind matter has gone through a hadron collider, or so it feels:-) Essentially, the time that I am supposed to consciously and mindfully move to better prepare for meditation never happened. But like in any practice, there are good days and bad days. There are days when I wonder when exactly I had relinquished control to my monkey brain and then there are days when I can observe these random thoughts, and let it go. The key is to show up on the mat every day and be open minded about what you might find out about yourself.

• On the mat in a class:

It is such a hard habit to beat - the drive to do better than the person next to you in a yoga class.  I am aware that I push myself harder and lose my intention of the practice. So to avoid being caught in the game of one-upmanship, I try to cheat and pick an obscure corner for my mat. But if the room has mirrored walls, then forget it, the battle is on. If it is not the teacher, then it’s the voice in your head that constantly reminds you not to compare yourself to those around you and thereby inevitably either judging yourself or others. It is another aspect of my practice that is a work in (snail-paced) progress. On days when I walk out of class with wobbly legs I know I pushed myself harder to satisfy my ego :-)

• Off the mat (onto the world)

Learning a new skill without a steady guidance of a guru is daunting, but instead of being engulfed in a feeling of trepidation and an overwhelming sense of all that I am yet to learn, I embrace this opportunity and interest to dig deeper and look forward with excitement to the lessons I learn every day on my mat - both implicit and explicit. Whatever I have absorbed, spills over onto my daily interactions and attitude. It might be minuscule and barely noticeable a lot of times, but the shift in my inner compass is much more discernible.

• Meditation

It used to be excruciating to sit still even for a couple of minutes. I would imagine the clock ticking and would always find myself counting the seconds with my breath. This is an area of my practice that I find most wanting and the one aspect of my practice that is compromised when I am rushed for time. I maybe able to sit still longer now and be able to go into it without expectations. But there is so much more to learn and the best part is that it can all be done by sitting still and breathing :-)

You will find a million resources on pranayama, asana and meditation and other disciplines of yoga. This post’s intent is not to impart instructions nor is it to endorse or denounce any yoga styles, but to share with you my yoga journey and how my practice has evolved (in my eyes) over the past 15 years. I have found it to be a secular practice that can be tailored to your physical and spiritual needs. It is a wonderful conscious way to work through inadequacies, physical or imagined and I hope you find encouragement to continue (or start) your yoga journey and be dazzled by its effects - halo or not :-)

Namaste