Alan Loves to Shop

She is dark, like velvety chocolate and terribly faithful, having gone through many good, confusing, over-indulgent and even hair-brained times with us. Alan and I were having a discussion about her, wondering exactly when she had come into our lives. We both remember being in Hong Kong in 2006 catching a train from the airport in the hope of getting off at a stop close enough to our hotel. We failed miserably in the process and how much we laughed at ourselves.

I remember the way she hobbled along, behind Alan as we got off the train. Walking in the swift way Alan and I have mastered as we weave in and around people in the underground stations of places like Singapore and Hong Kong. I kept turning around to smile at her keeping up without making a fuss. Yes – the girl has seen many adventures with us - accommodating others without complaint, as being bigger than the rest, she always begins our holidays as our lone suitcase.

It was no different on our trip to Indochina, except on this occasion we did not pack a second case inside her – only the two pull-on cabin bags because the plan was to buy a new friend for her at Ben Thahn Market. I know the holiday happened late last year and I have already made three entries about the trip, but you have yet to read about the shopping.

As a general rule, we very seldom do any shopping in the air-conditioned shopping centres when we travel. Instead we tend to allow our combined susceptibility for local bazaars, crowded markets and the endless rows of street stalls lead the way. The first sightseeing we do whenever we are in a new place is the walking tour or part there of as recommended by the Lonely Planet Guide for that city. Along the way we include shops and markets that have been recommended, where mostly we check out prices to get a feel of the value of the items that have caught our fancy. And yes, we always weaken even further at the sight of inviting cafés where we will stop to relax, refuel and make use of the restrooms.

Most people know how passionate we are about our home. Shambhala is a reflection of who we are, where we have been; of our beliefs and our obsessions. People always think that it is mainly my love for interior decorating that has filled our home with the colours and textures, the smells and ambiance. I might be the driving force but as I began writing this entry, I came to realise that Alan has made a significant contribution of his own. And I don’t just mean in just the numerous handyman things he has done around the house. You see, Alan like me thoroughly enjoys holiday shopping.

This of course is altogether different from the years of unnecessary shopping that I indulged in before. Back then it was my searching for my true path and unskillful thinking that led me to believe I could fill all the empty space inside me with the things I constantly had to go out and buy. Those of you who have been with me through my blogging journey know how India cured me of that acquisitive misery. These days I really only buy things we actually need to live on or to make a living with. I believe I only drop my guard when lush plants beg me to take them home. *smile*

So when we go on holidays … we shop big-time. It becomes a festival of buying clothes, shoes and beautiful pieces for our home. Alan is the best partner I could ever wish to be on holiday with. We generally have similar obsessions and so we have tremendous fun together. History, people, food and coffee are major interests. We love walking - and walking is the best way to meet the locals. Locals generally love to chat - and chatting is the best way to find out the top places to eat and do an unadulterated amount of shopping at.

In Saigon, Alan lost his heart to the variety of lamps they had on offer. I had to literally drag him out of the little shops because he was relentless. In total he managed to convince me, that we would find room in our home for eight more lamps. Everyone knows I am the reining queen of soft-lighting in our neighbourhood, we already had a houseful of lamps. So initially I only agreed to buying three more. But de Souza Saab was adamant that I would severely regret it if I did not agree with him that our home required the other five. They are gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, the man has taste and this is not the first time we have bought lamps while on holiday.

Like me, Alan also likes object d'art.

Our present collection of Asian religious deities and prayer items began in 2004 with a beautiful bronze icon of Green Tara in a dancing pose. She is rather sensuous and really quite a heavy piece. Alan had insisted we buy her when we were in Dharamsala and that she would fit into our suitcase together with a bulky lamp he had already bought in Hong Kong. On that trip Alan also bought a Kashmiri handmade silk embroidery throw rug, two Tibetan thangka paintings although I had the final say in the choice of paintings, two Himalayan singing bowls and two handmade hanging Tibetan paper lamps. He also chose the most ornate Tibetan Prayer Wheel on offer. You can see how this is a pattern, can’t you?

So it came as no surprise to me that while in the Buddha country of Siem Reap, Cambodia, Alan grew attached to a very heavy and beautifully sculptured silver statue of Siddhartha Gautama Buddha. It was tucked away in a very humid claustrophobic maze of shops that we only happened upon by accident. Before we left for Indochina I had made a wish-list of items. One of the items on that list was 'statue of the Buddha'. We saw literally thousands of statues in Vietnam and Cambodia but I soon began to lose interest in looking because none of them really appealed to me - until this silver one appeared.

Now the problem was … being made of silver on bronze, he weighed about eight kilograms and was quite expensive. I am very paranoid and do not like the worry of being overloaded with luggage – also I knew Alan was going to go back to Saigon and want to buy the other five lamps and the statues of the iconic Three Ladies of Vietnam that he had seen in a shop outside Ben Thahn Market. I immediately made a decision not to buy the silver Buddha. Touching his beautiful face, I gave him my love and knew I would think about him for a long time. Then I walked away. Not my Alan – he obviously wanted the statue. Walking back to the tourist area of Siem Reap and sweating profusely, he was wiping his face and saying to me how beautiful he thought the statue was and that we had not seen anything quite like it. I remember telling him that was because it had been handmade by an artist and was not cast from a mould or constructed of poor quality materials. “That is why we should buy it!” he insisted.

I quickly made an offer of food to distract him – you see sometimes that strategy works.

Our last afternoon in Siem Reap arrived and we decided we wanted to enjoy another meal and then heavenly fruit drinks at the two cafes we had come to like very much along the main eating stretch of that dusty and very friendly town. After two drinks each and lazing on the bed and pillows for longer than we should have, Alan said he wanted to find that shop with the silver Buddha. “To say goodbye?” I teased him knowing full well he wanted to have one final look only to confirm his decision to purchase it.

It took us thirty five minutes of wandering, making wrong turns, copious sweating, a need for me to find a toilet which of course does not seem to exist in such areas in Asia and then lagging behind and grumbling under my breath before we finally found the shop with the silver Buddha. I could see how delighted Alan was and could not begrudge him the indulgence. Besides, the Buddha really is an exquisite piece. We just had to find a way to take him home with us.

And so together with the five extra lamps which we did end up buying, the Three Ladies of Vietnam in a deep shade of jade, a large red and black lacquer tray with mother of pearl in-lay and all the clothes and shoes we had fought through crowds and after serious bargaining purchased - we set out on the final day in Saigon to find two new friends to keep our terribly faithful brown suitcase company. Alan had a wonderful time buying those as well.

Next trip Paris and London.

Madam is looking for a sari?

As the weeks drew nearer to my leaving Catholic Education many people would come and give me a hug at lunch or morning tea. The general consensus I gathered was that they were really going to miss seeing my colourful saris roaming around the building and the beautiful grounds of the Centre in Leederville.

People have been so very kind and sweet to me and I have really enjoyed all the cuddles. Being told how much they cared for or loved me was truly heart-warming. Several asked if I would wear my saris as often since I would be working from home. "Do you wear them while cooking, would you wear one when taking photos?" Well, of course the answer to those questions is sadly... a practical no. "But have you not grown up wearing saris?" (A very common question.) To which someone would always reply "... of course she did!" You can imagine how such questions and speculations always make me smile.

Okay, so remember I once said I would devote an entire blog entry to this beautiful garment? I've decided that today I would like to tell you the story of my very first sari, it happened in Malaysia and I remember it like it was just yesterday.

Would you like to take a moment to light some incense? Go on ... I really think it will go down well with this entry.

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On a seemingly insignificant street somewhere in Malacca, after a genuinely scrumptious breakfast of Masala Dosa, I drank the last bit of my Chai Tarik. Wiping my fingers one by one with a moist baby wipe, I glanced at the small TV suspended on the wall of peeling green paint, the black wiring haphazardly tacked onto a strip of wood that led to a power-point. Ceiling fans twirled slowly above circulating the humidity and at one corner of the room two lizards ran in their peculiar zig-zag fashion - to disappear into a little hole above the door that led to the kitchen.

It was a typical early morning scene that could be found at any coffee shop in Asia. A newsreel was on, but the sound was lost completely due to the usual morning exchange that was taking place within the little shop – Malay, English, Tamil, Hokkien and a yellow canary singing in a colourful cage. I sniffed my fingers to make sure they did not smell like curry, turned to Alan and told him I was going to pop into the fabric shop a couple of doors way while he and Donny finished their meal.

How do I remember such little details? It was 1996 for heaven's sakes! I even had to check the year with Donny before I started this entry. I could not tell you where this coffee shop was either, and I guess that is because I have Alan to remember directions. But everyday things that catch my eye like lizards and peeling paint, sounds and smells - I just love. I will indulge in all things sensory. And usually the more complicated a setting, the more the smells and the sounds ... the more I take in and hold onto.

An Indian lady with gold bangles in the fabric shop wagged her head and welcomed me with a smile that almost made her seem familiar. I slowly made my way through a meadow of flowering prints, ran my hand over what my dear mother would without hesitation refer to as 'Malay-looking' lace, gaudy patterned velvets and practical cottons. Then I caught my breath as the most iridescent raw silks and satins; sequined and beaded georgettes; and a sheer rainbow of flowing chiffon saris that had been pleated and suspended from the ceiling - came into view.

Inhaling the scent of what probably was jasmine incense, I noticed a little shrine dedicated to Goddess Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth. I counted 1 2 3 4 5 6 sticks of incense and marigolds arranged dutifully. The altar was by a narrow flight of stairs that led, I imagined to the area where the lady with the gold bangles probably lived with her family. Shophouses. That is what these terraces are called, isn’t it? For a moment I found myself lost in my thoughts about the whole concept of shophouses and Hindus actually having a Goddess of Wealth.

“Madam is looking for a sari?”

I turned around and there standing behind the glass counter on the other side of the shop was a man with a red tikka on his forehead. I smiled and told him that I have always wanted to wear a sari, but putting one on just looked too complicated. Plus I had visions of it unfurling as I boarded a bus or even worse of the pallu getting caught in a moving escalator. I began laughing and remember a clock ticking somewhere in that brightly florescent lit shop. He smiled, wagged his head and called out in Tamil towards the narrow stairs.

A young woman came hurrying down, and I remember how the trails of incense smoke dissolved around her, as she came towards me.

“No problem Madam, her sister can be showing you.”

Indicating first to the lady with the gold bangles and then to the young woman, who was now also smiling at me and wagging her head in agreement. I looked beyond her to the older sister and yes ... you guessed it, she was wagging her head with the same degree of enthusiasm. I wonder if they'll teach me head wagging too? It's such an art form.

Just then, Alan and Donny came into the shop. Before I could even begin to explain to Alan that I was about to be given sari draping lessons, the man with the tikka flung in quick and expert succession several colourful, flowing chiffon and georgette saris that he pulled out from under the counter - over all the bales of suddenly insignificant satins and silks. In mere seconds he managed to remove from my mind forever all thoughts I might have earlier entertained of buying fabrics to tailor into western-style outfits.

“Sir, I am just telling your missus she can be learning now how to wear sari … it is not a problem. You want Coke? 7-Up? Arre, tambhi …(continued taking in Tamil towards the stairs at no one in particular.)

A little boy came running down those stairs for instructions and then quickly up again. In an instant I was six years old once more, in Mr Majeed’s shop being offered a soft drink. (Refer blog entry Fun with Clothes) I have to smile as I type this. The polite technique employed to prolong our stay in their establishments, in order to entice us to buy ... Indians really do know how to be hospitable in business.

And so it began. I felt the women gently lead me towards the back of the shop one of them rubbing my arm in an affirming manner while the other began making friendly conversation - all the while wagging their heads gleefully. I felt my head wag back unskillfully. Back then, I always marvelled at an Indian persons ability to move their heads so effortlessly. Alan quickly turned on his video camera saying he would record each step so I could watch the instructions when we got back home and was trying to dress myself.

It was a red chiffon sari with a black pallu that had gold sequined flower patterns. I can still see the look on Alan’s face when the pallu was finally pinned onto my left shoulder and I turned around to walk towards him. He had been looking through the video camera and then he slowly lowered it and just stared at me. The two ladies and the man with the tikka - who respectfully by the way, only joined us when I was ready - began animatedly talking in Tamil. Wagging their heads, smiling and making the ‘ok’ hand signals in unified approval. Other members of their staff/family suddenly appeared with smiling eyes and wags of what appeared to be endorsement.

Sometimes, when you try something on at a store the salesperson tries to convince you that you look fabulous. But the mirror hangs there screaming at you "Harlow ... you are looking idiotic. You feel uncomfortable. Don't listen to them ... they are only trying to make a sale." Ever been in that position? Well, that morning at the fabric shop with the ticking clock and the heady perfume of jasmine incense - that was not the case. I felt like I belonged in a sari. I felt an identity emerging. There was genuine appreciation on all their happy faces. The fabric shop on what I thought was just an insignificant street in Malacca, had introduced me to a spectacular ritual that would become really significant in my life. Sari draping.

The man with the tikka turned to Alan and triumphantly wagged his head:

"See sir ... madam is looking beautiful. Hundred percent total Indian."

Illusion & Light

It has been six months since my last entry and I've missed writing my stories. Let me begin with a heartfelt salutation to all of you.

Namaste-ji.

derived from Sanskrit ~

I honour the place in you in which the entire universe dwells. The place that is of light, of love, of truth, of peace and of wisdom. I honour the place in you where when you are in that place, and I am in that place ... we are One.

A great deal has occurred in my life since our return from Indochina. It has occupied time and contemplation to the point that I never managed to find my way back here to finish our stories from the holiday. I had intended to devote an entire entry to Alan and how much he enjoyed the shopping.

And so it is now May 2009. I would like do a quick rewind to the time I created this blog and wrote my very first entry in April 2008, I Love My Life. In my profile at the time under occupation, I had with a smile, a wish and reflective resolve typed – A photographer, someday. I then wrote the introductory entry with exploration and new beginnings in mind.

Here is the final paragraph from that first entry:

Now at 45, I'm thinking I want to retire. I want to venture into something new. It's time to take my art out of these personal quarters.

I am happy to announced that on Friday May 15 2009 … I celebrated my last working day at Catholic Education.

In this new chapter of my life ... I am a photographer.

That I could turn my dreams of being a professional photographer into a reality only struck me as an actual possibility when we returned from that last holiday. It was so terribly humid in Saigon and Siem Reap, and I had a very difficult time drumming up the energy to carry my heavy camera equipment around, even though it would have been Alan that did the actual lugging. I still felt exhausted at just the thought of him doing so. It was as if I had lost all interest in travel photography. You see, I was not coping with the rivulets of perspiration and the severe water retention in my legs and hands. So mostly, we never bothered to take the equipment with us. It was enough for me that we managed to leave the air-conditioned comfort of our hotels to venture out and keep our wandering spirits at adventure seeking levels each day.

I believe we only took photos on two maybe three days of the total holiday. Yet, when I began to upload all the photos, I felt that regardless of our sweaty deficiencies in camera time … somehow, something that spoke of the essence of Saigon and Siem Reap had been captured. I knew I had made photos that told individual stories and that Alan had captured wonderful moments during the times when the weight of the camera and the Canon zoom EF 28 – 300 mm lens had made me surrender in swollen weariness during those two or three days.

If you have read my description of Siem Reap you may remember my comment: Cambodia is Buddha country. My friends, it really is and being there made me want to be Maya, so I began using my Buddhist name when I introduced myself. It is difficult to explain, but amongst the lotus flowers and the Theravada community, I felt like I had successfully navigated my way through a course. That after the last few years of Dhamma study I was finally worthy of a new title. Using my Buddhist name was perhaps my illusion of a graduation.

Maya truly is the spiritual part of me who is stretched with new experiences and ever mindful of everyday miracles. She is the artist, the creator, the one who reminds me that I am free and keeps me in the present moment. Maya is my Indian spirit. She is Light. Upon our return home, I did not want to give up being acknowledged as Maya and it saddened me.

“Work as if you do not need money.” she whispered to me as I looked at the photos from our holiday. "Be Maya. Stop hiding, girl."

What a concept ... to work as if we do not need the money. Could I leave Catholic Education and the work I had done for so long? Would we manage financially? It was Alan my pillar of light and love who reminded me that we had already made it through our 'hungry years'. He could see that the rewards of my leaving would be a sound investment in my spiritual well being, for I have for lengthy periods wrestled in spiritual conflict while at Catholic Education. Yes, I love photography and art but I also enjoy the part-time work I did at Catholic Education, it was not in any way stressful or difficult. I truly loved my friends and immediate boss endearingly as well.

But almost every day since 2005, I have increasingly felt that I was not in a position that met with one of the aspects of the Eightfold Path, that of Right Livelihood. I could easily do my photography within the time I was not at work ... but I would never fully embrace Maya as long as I remained. For when I was there, I had to so often hide that very real and very significant part of me.

And so I began to till the soils of my new business. I planted seeds of interest by showing my photographs. I spent a few minutes each day reading and digesting articles online from a digital photography school. I spent hours staring at the way the light hit different surfaces. And I started thinking of a name for the business. Maya ... something ... Photography. I wanted something Indian and beautiful. Now might be a good time to remind you that Maya means Illusion … a fantasy, a magical apparition, an image. Very much like a photograph, for isn't a photograph just a skillful mix of illusion and light?

I went through so many names and nothing seemed to fit, even though the right one was staring at me all the time. Then one day as I was doing my ironing and re-watching Indian actor (and very yummy daddy) Hrithik Roshan play Emperor Akbar on Jodhaa Akbar - it suddenly struck me. I went into fits of giggles.

Roshan (m) Roshni (f) from the hindi word Roshani. Meaning ... light!

Illusion & Light. Maya Roshni Photography. I reckon it works.