Sunday, June 29, 2008

Following My Bliss – Friday 27 June

I like early starts and today was no exception, 6.30am on my day off and in spite of the gloomy skies, I felt like Miss Merry Sunshine from the moment I awoke. Alan was just about ready to leave for work, I kissed him goodbye, pinched his bottom and grabbed my usual extra-large cup of coffee.

Hand washing some clothes was the first task I had to embark upon. I love the fragrance of clothes that have been washed in Lux Pure Soap Flakes and always hand wash my favourite somewhat faded t-shirts from Colaba, Mumbai in these luxurious bubbles. There is something very reassuring about wearing those t-shirts. I think it’s because they smell of India… and Lux. Mum and Nadia would add … “And you have Shah Rukh on the front!” Well, maybe that too.

I started to fill the buckets and enjoyed the warm sudsy water as I mixed in the soap. Turning the t-shirts inside out, I caught a glimpse of Shah Rukh. That set my monkey mind in another direction … it was off-peak internet time … and there was a new episode of Shah Rukh’s Kya Aap Pachvi Pass Se Tez Hain? (Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader?) ready for downloading.

As many of you know I have fantasies – and no, I don’t mean of Shah Rukh, but of the day I will be able to speak Hindi fluently, but to date I still only understand a very bare minimum. Not too long ago, I discovered this wonderful site online www. srkpagali.net which provides Shah Rukh Khan devotees with high quality AVI videos of his movies, interviews, advertisements, TV shows etc, with subtitles. I sighed and gave in to my addiction … no … can’t wash yet … must download. You see, I know my weakness, and I will only end up downloading during the peak period if I did all the chores first. What to do yaar, I am like this only, nah? Shah Rukh-jaanmein ari hu.

Pleasure comes in many forms. Most women like massages and a visit to a spa; a lady I used to know when I worked at Citibank used to treat herself by having her eyelashes dyed and her acrylic nails French-tipped regularly. Recently, I heard that a friend of a friend is currently finding much satisfaction in fine dining. With my 46th birthday just around the corner it got me thinking – what is my idea of indulgence? What do I have a weakness for?

One of my greatest pleasures is our home of ‘hippie opulence’. I must thank Vicky, one of Donny’s friends, again for providing our home with that allusion. The first thing I do just about every morning is light the tea-lights and sticks of incense in my kitchen and pay respects to the little Buddha on my counter. I love the way the trailing patterns of rising smoke infuses our home with its sweet earthy fragrance as I sip my morning coffee in the deep morning silence. Often I sit on our Indian style floor mattress which is swathed in a black and gold embroidered mirror-work Rajasthani counterpane. Reclining on the matching bolsters, I cannot help but breathe in the smells of India that it still clings on to.

Speaking of hippies made me think of The Beatles and thinking of them made me think of the sitar – told you I have a monkey mind. I remember the first time I tried to attentively listen to Ravi Shankar. We were in Dharamsala in a shop selling beautiful handmade items from the Tibetan Children’s Village. Ravi Shankar was playing a raga in the background – I listened and wanted so desperately to understand what all the accolades for this man were about. And of course, I was extremely disappointed. You see then, I was listening with western classical music training in mind. I was completely unaware of the magic, a sitar in the hands of this absolute master would someday evoke in me – that rhythms and vibrations in a raga could be a spiritual discipline in my path to awareness or that a thumri which is a sensual romantic semi-classical style, would become a favourite. That I would sit at my computer writing my blog entries listening to his beautiful daughter’s music. I don’t mean Norah Jones – but Anoushka Shankar. It is mesmerising the way her music gently caressing the air around me.

Alan and I remember the air in India, it is at times other-worldly. The red glow that so commonly is depicted in photographs and films of an Indian sunrise is real. I have stared directly into that red for several seconds as the sun begins to illuminate the morning, on more than a few occasions as we journeyed through the sub-continent. Surag namaskar, my salutations to the sun for there is something about that red and all its related hues – that just transports me onto another plane. Everyone knows my weakness for colour. I have no qualms at combing red, pink and orange together with azure and emerald green. Our journeys had gifted me with the unbridled desire to indulge in rang … colours of India without caution or trepidation.

Trepidation … that word always reminds me of the first time we flew in to Mumbai – all the guidebooks mentioned the terrible traffic jams, the fumes, the busyness, the slums and the beggars at traffic-signals. I was convinced that I would loath the place and reluctantly agreed to go only because the flight was a freebie and Alan said we would stay three days – I have never been more wrong about anything in my life and have to laugh at my foolishness. Amchi Mumbai - without question, going there is like returning home.

bbsigh

Think I’ll go make myself another coffee, put on Anoushka’s Rise CD and light another stick of Nag Champa. There’s an article on the Baadshah I’ve been saving for a rainy day like today. I am following my bliss – everything that reminds me of India is my life’s great indulgence.

I smile ... Happy Continuation Day, Maya.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Meander Entry

Alan and I approached last weekend with mixed feelings.

You see, about a month ago, Donovan told me that he was intending to invite his friends around for a cocktail party on Saturday 21 June. Having grown up in an environment where costume parties are a norm, Donny loves encouraging his crazy and artistically inventive posse to dress up to a theme whenever an opportunity presents itself. He decided this time it would be The Mad Hatters Boston Tea and Cocktail Party, as I love watching people arrive in their ingenious and often bizarre creations I was looking forward to this portion of the evening.

But Donny's parties also mean music like Miles Davies’ 'Agharta' & John Coltrane’s 'Ascension'. Some parents fear the distorted sounds of loud electric guitars and the heavy pulsation of programmed drumming. Other parents put up with the repetitious rapping of senseless 'In da Club' like compositions. Donny’s parents dread his free jazz collection. There was no way I was going to be able to sit in bed reading The Significance and Benefits of Six Syllable Mantra Recitation with Miles and John soaking in through the walls. Not even the thought of lovely warm flannel pyjamas and Alan next to me poring over The Lonely Planet's Guide to Vietnam could tempt me – I needed to … flee. Check out why
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpPraEdnKjY

But where would the Travelling Children go? Alan and I are not night birds in any shape or form. Even in our 20s we never understood the pleasure of getting dressed up to go out for a drink at places that come alive with music, mood lighting and mounting intoxication at sundown. Night clubs were and remain even more a never-to-attempt-again hazard. We checked all the movie houses and found nothing we seriously wanted to see - we had to laugh at ourselves and acknowledge yet again that we are a pretty boring old couple.

So what do we take pleasure in? For example the night before, warmly rugged up, we had driven with bolsters and an extra blanket to Nollamara for our much desired meditation and dharma fix. As part of our ritual, we floated over to McDonald's for milkshakes on our way home – Siddhartha type world music playing in the car. Then before the sun had risen on Saturday, Alan and I were dressed and ready to head out in that general direction again … Ikea for breakfast, of course, followed by a meander around Sweden’s gift to mankind. Hand in hand, Alan and I love to people-watch as we pick up items like serviettes and candles at lelong (sale) prices. Of course for us no Saturday morning outing is complete without a visit to some Indian or hippie inspired establishment. We generally roam around until after lunch and then head home where Alan brews us Illy or Lavazza cappuccinos – and we sit on our front deck and watch the birds and clouds in shared contentment. I think you get the picture … what we love doing is generally humdrum.

It was 8.15pm

Donny’s guests were beginning to arrive … Alan and I looked at each other and to use a family favourite line from Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna, we knew it was 'Time to go'.

We sat in the car and Alan asked me for the umpteenth time what we should do. My mind was still a void. 'Avoid, yaar' - yet another line we had freely adopted from Hindi movies - was the only thing that came to me. With a tinge of aggravation, Alan suggested we head out to the little Vietnamese restaurant in Northbridge – I immediately agreed, relieved at his brilliant proposal. Alan is really getting into Vietnamese food these days with all the excitement of our up-coming trip to Vietnam and Cambodia. Our friends Nga and Kevin had taken us to a little place on Brisbane Street a few months ago as Nga decided it was her duty to instruct us on how and what to order when we were in Saigon. Since that detailed introduction to Vietnamese cuisine, where she actually wrote down dishes we could order and made me practice pronouncing the very foreign sounding names, the tasty varieties of pho has very quickly become a family favourite.

And so over steaming bowls of delicious pho, Alan and I held our heads as we slurped up the noodles and fresh herbs, planning our Indochina holiday – Johnny Depp’s Pirates of the Caribbean quietly flashing in the background on the two high wall-mounted TV sets. Unfortunately for us, the service at this fabulous little eating-house is always super-efficient and so our dinner was over and done with before too long.

Sitting again in the car, we opted for the longest route home, along our favourite drive down Stirling Highway. We reminisced nostalgically about how it has not changed (much) at all in the 21 years that we have had the pleasure of night driving along it on our way back into Fremantle. From there we took to the side-streets through and around our beloved port city - as always it left us feeling immensely grateful that we live right next door to such an amazingly culture-rich and exceptional place. Our decision to live in Coogee came about mainly so we could be close to Fremantle and the ocean.

Alan and I kept talking and laughing until it dawned on us - we were nearly home … oh dear … what to do? Alan suggested a tour through the neighbourhood starting with a drive past Sam’s parents' home. Ridiculous but well, why not! We drove past the Tomeo's … the lights were all off so we decided to speculate that they had gone to a party or a wedding. I wondered if Nadia, Sam and the kids were also invited and what Nadia (and Hubble growing within her) had eaten for dinner.

We turned around the corner at Barking Dog House with Veranda … the poor slightly deranged and very scary animal had long since moved on to his next life, yet the name had stuck with that house. Alan has often had to remind me that even the owners had changed since I first starting calling it by that name. Onward we went past Take and Put Garden – a chaotically planted garden tended by an old Italian couple whose plants absolutely thrived despite all the confusion; past Sloping Block That Never Sold and a little further up on the corner to Gi-normous House (aka Pee House as one could conveniently stop for a pee there, at least until they put the cyclone fence around it). Gi-normous House has been five, maybe even six years in the making but is still sadly only a shell. We went past Our Lady of Perpetual Succour Church Replica, past The Gingerbread House (I’m telling you this house is right out of Brothers Grimm), past Astro Turf Lawn and around through a loop road past Christmas Lights House. Alan commented that a new home had come up in that loop and said we had to come back during the day to check it out. We turned at Chinese Cactus White House and went around again – peering through the lighted windows at whatever was visible in the rooms of homes we have grown fond of and took comfort in for we have walked and driven past them for 16 years now.

Finally – we had to go home. Donny's party was in full swing; we said our hellos and then retired into the study.

On my computer, I began downloading Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader. India’s very entertaining version is hosted by the Baadshah, Shah Rukh Khan. It was a celebrity episode and we were looking forward to enjoying it together.

Alan next to me, signed onto Facebook as he had to feed Schultzy, his on-line Miniature Schnauzer. We were so thrilled to be home.
Just before we began watching the episode, we looked at each other and burst out laughing “Old couple!” we said in unison.

It was only 10.30pm.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Must go to India


Recently Nadia said to me in an email that she did not think Alan and I would ever stop returning to India. Just like her and Sam would always return to their Italy – we would be doing our Indian pilgrimages until we were old and grey. My best friend is right as usual – the woman knows me through and through. Did I really even for a moment entertain the idea that after the big silver wedding anniversary trip we would bring the “Must go to India” chapter to a close? Well, Alan did – for a while at least. And he is right as well, as there are so many other countries on our to-do list.

The to-do list of travels … when Alan and I were newly married we would often laze around after dinner and dream about all the places we would someday have enough cash to explore, and of course, all the food we were going to have to try. We were 22 and the first among most of our classmates from our year group to be married and (soon after) fall pregnant. While many of our friends were perhaps perusing Contiki brochures and picking up tickets for their traveling around Europe or the US; we were with equal excitement scrutinising ICI paint charts and collecting pre-loved sofas and baby furniture that families had so kindly donated to ‘the young couple’ setting up a new home. We mostly went with the flow, as we never really had a plan about where our lives would lead. All that mattered was that against all the odds – Alan and I were married and deliriously in love. We had persevered through all the hurt of being rejected by Alan’s parents and had held our love beyond the taint of all the scandalous talk that circulated the Eurasian community. The only plan we really had was that whatever happened … we would be in it together, we would dream as one and we would work to succeed as one.

We had always done everything together, Alan and I - but after our first trip to India, when I began my study of Buddhism in 2004, it dawned on me like a ton of bricks … that finally after all the years of dreaming - just when we had begun our traveling overseas together, I would also have to embark on a very lonely Buddhist trail without him. You see, the first thing I learnt was that Buddhism is not evangelical, it is personal - a life-style based purely on self-discovery, self-testing, self-doing. I was petrified for this wonderful man had been my sounding board for 20 years, our minds always working as one. It would be easier for me to stop believing in God than it would be for me to walk this path without Alan.

I knew he would continue to be with me and support me in a physical sense but he and I were at different places for the first time in our married lives. I was ready to invest everything into this commitment to retrain my Christian mind into an Eastern one – and I did not know if we would ever think with the same oneness again. I had been tinkering with Buddhism for many years whenever I felt helpless and backed into a corner, but the idea of living a Buddhist life-style fully never occurred to me until after India.

Christianity is based completely on faith. As my study began I realised that one of the most difficult things for me personally - as a Catholic who had always been devout - to learn to do was the letting go of my God fearing guilt. Going to the convent school I attended, we girls were daily reminded of our faith. I felt it forever imprinted in my soul that occurances which did not have human explanation are called mysteries and it was through our faith that we believed and would be saved. Buddhism on the other hand threw the entire order of things in my head and heart into disarray as the Buddha told his disciples not to believe him. He said:

“Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it. Do not believe in anything simply because it is spoken and rumored by many. Do not believe in anything simply because it is found written in your religious books. Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders. Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations. But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it.”

My whole belief system was in turmoil. There were moments that first year when my courage would wane and I would pine desperately to have the support of a community, anyone who understood the dharma who could explain the teachings in everyday terms. I had many issues with re-birth and the lack of a God to pray to and to ask for intercessions. The Buddha was only an Indian man, albeit a former prince, albeit enlightened. Indian and a man. My dear grandmother Winnie, my own mother and everyone else in Singapore who had called him the Chinese God were wrong. What did the resultant path mean, how would I ever see myself as a divine being experiencing a human life? I had as a Catholic been able to seek some form of refuge and companionship from other parishioners at church – now I had no place of worship and I had no community, or to use the Buddhist term - I had no sangha. Added to this deficiency, I also had to open the door of my heart to many of my ex-community discussing my failing faith; I believe speculators were even soliciting prayers for my return to the fold. Instead of gentle understanding, many judged and tried to reclaim me with the one tool so often used and that always worked on me in the past … guilt.

Alan held me up physically as did those closest and dearest to me, many of you read my blogs and I want to thank you for being there for me, I love you all so very much. But emotionally I was on my own as I radically emptied my life of all the past doctrines and mindfully held my new discoveries beyond the condemning looks and the taint of all the scandalous talk that circulated the Catholic community. I did not realise this then, but these very people from the community soon became my great teachers, and I will forever be grateful to them for the lessons they will never realise they taught me through their lack of understanding. I discovered the joy of patience and knowing I could find new understandings for the ideas I had out-grown by being open to the ideas of other schools of thought. This sort of learning had no end and I had been gifted with an opportunity to become the person I was always supposed to be for this new way appealed to my intelligence and not just my willingness to believe. Out of interest, I also began to include Hinduism and Taoism into my daily lessons. Suddenly - I began to feel bliss. It astounded me. Family and friends who saw me on a regular basis began to realise the change in me. Soon strangers would smile at me on the streets and even stop to talk with me.

One day … obviously it had been happening gradually but because by then I had become so self aware of my practice, I had abandoned all craving and expectations of Alan committing to the same path … I suddenly realised he had been yearning and that he was ready to abandon the comfort of just being a good person and doing no harm. He wanted more and he was ready. We were in this – together. I felt our already peaceful and beautiful home awash with a new light of connected harmony.

We returned to India for the 3rd time last October, the visits have now become a sentimental journey for The Travelling Children. The explorations, the people, the food have all become a part of our everyday conversations. Most of our family and friends have an idea of what India means to Alan and I as they laugh lovingly at our obsession with it. But I acknowledge India as my salvation and to an extent, it has been Alan’s as well. Yes Nadia … I believe you are right … we shall be doing our Indian pilgrimages until we are old and grey. We will go elsewhere in between; for of course there is still that to-do list of travels.

These days we take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha that we belong to. We bring our bolsters and in the winter even a blanket on the long drive to Nollamara to sit on a carpet in quiet meditation with our Sangha and to be; in Buddhist fashion educated, entertained and enlightened. We are disciples of Ajahn Brahm.

I send an inner smile through my body.