When I got to St Lucia, I felt a bit more free. Granted, as with any retreat I was responsible for a group of people and take that very seriously. I stayed diligent in attending to my retreat participants to offer them the best experience possible. But, there's a freedom in being on the otherside of a flight-- it was happening. No more preparations, just being. Also, wifi was less reliable, which also presents a bit of a release. I had prepared my collaborators. I had an automatic reply set for my email. I couldn't respond as quickly-- I had to focus on offering the retreat.
As the St Lucia retreat wound down, friends began to ask me if I was excited for India. We returned home from St Lucia on Saturday Jan 24. I was scheduled to fly to Mumbai, departing Newark on Wednesday Jan 28. Honestly, I wasn't. It wasn't that I wasn't happy about it but I simply couldn't really fathom it. Going to India wouldn't be backpacking with Kevin, the type of adventure I get *really* excited about. It wouldn't be offering a retreat, which has it's own sort of reality and experience. I was going to India to do Jivamukti Yoga teacher training. I was going as a student. I haven't been that type of student in some time. I'd never been to India. It was simply outside of the scope of my imagination.
Kevin and I got home late Saturday Jan 24. Looking back, I'm trying to remember what we did. Probably slept. Definitely did laundry. I remember running to the store a lot to pick up packs of tissues and other suggested items. I remember everything I was supposed to bring lying in a pile on my bedroom floor. I'm typically a good packer. I often travel for long spans of time with only a carry-on. This packing felt really daunting as I was required to bring bulky items like yoga props. I listened to Calexico. Double-checked a lot of lists.
Reality started sinking in that I was doing this thing. This thing that felt so fun, exciting, and adventurous. This thing that was starting to feel really scary. Would Kevin be OK? He kept saying that he would be fine, that he was looking forward to the time to focus on projects. Would Kevin be so OK he didn't miss me? No, he assured me, I'll be just *barely* OK. And on and on we go.
Would I be OK? What if I hated India? Well, I reminded myself, I've lived through plenty of places and periods that I wasn't fond of. It always had everything to do with me-- my frame of mind and perspective. I'm better skilled at dealing with reality and finding worth than I used to be. I could find gems.
What if I hated the training? Well, that would be a lot of money towards an investment that I wasn't excited about. But I made the investment because I knew being a Jivamukti Teacher is valuable. Even if I didn't like the process, it would be worthwhile.
What if I didn't enjoy the people I was around? Been there, done that. Next?
What if they hated me? Again. Not the worst thing.
I didn't get to all the tasks I'd planned prior to leaving. I slept lightly the night before leaving. Early in the morning I heard Kevin in the office and knew he was writing me letters. Since we'd agreed that I would do this training, I'd planned to write him a letter for every week I was gone. I thought I'd mail the first and then leave the other three stamped and dated with Beth to mail. I never got around to it. I didn't know what to write. Suddenly I realized that Kevin had the same idea and did know what to write. And I was simultaneously touched and shamed.
He gave me my packet of letters with instructions. I had a card from my friend, Joanne, as well, with strict instructions to only open on my birthday. Another fear! I'm weird about my birthday. What if I was really unhappy celebrating my birthday away from my nearest and dearest? Again, I've been unhappy on my birthday plenty and always survived.
Our friend, Clarissa, had given us sage she'd kept in her life for a long time. Kevin and I smudged each other. Our friends, Mimi and Chalese had told us about Valor oil, an essential oil said to fortify in preparation for big events. Kevin and I applied the oil to keep us both strong.
Kevin dropped me off at the airport. I decided eating french fries was probably the way to abate my fears. I always like to find my gate before doing anything else at an airport. I cleared security and discovered that I was in a wing of the airport where every flight was bound for India, even though I had a stop in Belgium first. There was only one restaurant and it was themed as a British pub. No matter, I thought. I can get fries here. I ordered and received really dry, fried potato chips. Oh well. Drown my nervousness in grease.
Restlessly, I waited for the first-leg to Belgium. Once in the air, I picked up the novel I'd been working on since St Lucia, Claire of the Sea Light by Edwidge Danticat. I'm becoming a Danticat fan and enjoyed finishing the novel as we crossed the Atlantic. The novel describes a number of sacrifices to the sea. I found myself feeling scared. What if this was my last flight? What if? What if?
Now, I fly a lot. I have never been frightened in that way. I decided it might have been due to my reading choice. I looked at the little library I'd brought. The other authors were Indian or writing about India: Jhumpa Lahiri, Arundhati Roy, and my shameful little secret, Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love. I'd specifically bummed a copy off a friend to have something light. I figured yoga theory might get heavy. I opened it up, trying to hide the cover. It felt like such a cliche to read on an Indian-bound plane. However, it was *perfect*.
I felt better. I felt lighter. I was going on a big adventure. I was nervous. It would be OK.
I landed in Belgium and set out for waffles. I only saw a bit of the Brussels airport to and from India but I have to say, I did not find appetizing waffles. I saw a lot of ads for diamonds that made me uneasy (and think of the book, Blood Diamonds). I stuck with water.
I boarded my Mumbai bound flight. I had an aisle seat with one empty seat next to me. Score! But wait. On the other side of the empty seat was a 3-year old. His Aunt was next to him. His other family members were across the aisle from me. To his credit, he held it pretty well together for the first 6 hours. However, this was a 9 hour flight. I'll leave it there.
We landed in Mumbai at 11 pm local time. I'd been traveling about 19 hours. It was probably around noon at home. We actually exited through a duty-free gift shop. Customs felt intimidatingly bureaucratic. Indian bureaucracy is a unique animal. At baggage claim, things got real pushy. It actually felt a lot like New York. My bag didn't come. It still didn't come. Again and again, it didn't come. So, the nervousness. My bag won't come. My ride to the hotel won't wait for me. And then the saner inner voice, "It's out of your control so just chill out. You've handled worse and handled it well."
Ultimately, my bag came.
Outside, there was a placard for Hotel Lalit. My hotel was a 5 minute ride away. Of course they waited.
The air was warm. There were tons of people. My driver walked me to the parking garage. Driving on the other side of the road felt more normal as I'd been in St Lucia such a short time before. The parking garage had perfumed air. The air looked smoky or smoggy. I asked the driver about it but it looked normal to him. As we drove out of the airport, I saw highway on ramps with palm trees planted on the shoulders. Soon, we were at Hotel Lalit.
This was my one night in India with a room to myself. Hotel Lalit is probably very overpriced, but I went with it as this is where we stayed as a group when training began the following day. I think that it was chosen because it had the capacity for our group and was close to the airport. I kept things simple. This is a very soft landing in India. I was shown to my room with a king-sized bed and down comforter. I took a hot shower. I booked a massage for the morning.
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| The view from my balcony on that first hazy Mumbai morning. |
My room included complimentary breakfast at the downstairs buffet. The buffet was a massive spread of just about anything you would hope for. There were ridiculous numbers of staff milling around. This hotel seemed to cater to business travelers. Lots of groups gathered with papers and cell phones spread amid their coffees and juices. I was wearing leggings and a traditional Indian tunic for the first time. The training information had suggested that women dress conservatively and possibly in Indian dress. I figured that I wouldn't have time to shop so I purchased two tunics and one pair of leggings from an Indian woman holding a sale in her suburban New Jersey basement a few months before travel. I felt weird and conspicuous. I wondered if it was cultural appropriation to wear this dress. Or was it like wearing the band tee shirt at the concert? As a waiter filled my coffee he asked if I had shopped locally. I explained and he said, "You look very nice."
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| This photo was taken the last morning of training with my friend, Stanely. It shows one of the two tunics I wore whenever we were not practicing asana. It turned out to be the perfect weight for the climate (makes sense!) and appropriate for just going out or spending time in places of worship. |
I went to the hotel basement for my massage. Prices were comparable to the US, but I justified based on the amount of travel I'd just endured. My massage was more akin to what I'm used to in the US but with Thai elements as well. I was less covered than at home. The bashful should avoid massages in India! Women have no problem with being fully naked and touchy feely with one another. It's interesting-- men and women aren't supposed to be publicly affectionate or even touch. However, you can be as expressive as you want with your own gender. That said, every massage I received in India included breast massage. I remember thinking, "Ok, muscle, muscle, muscle, AND nipple." It never felt like it crossed a line, it's simply a different theory of body work.
Afterwards, the massage therapist showed me to the steam room. Massages in India are oil HEAVY, usually with medicinal oil. Afterwards you steam to really absorb the oils. The best part is that after the steam you're told to shower and they provide all shampoo and soap you need. You leave the massage feeling clean and refreshed.
I'd paid so much attention to getting to India that once I was there, I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. I had thought that registration for training began at noon. I began identifying others who were training and we compared notes. Some thought noon, some thought 2 pm, others 4 pm. Ultimately, we moved into the rooms booked for our training around 4 or 5 pm. There was a lot of awkward waiting around, which isn't uncommon for this type of thing. When I moved to my new room I was paired with Annie, who would be one of my roommates throughout training. She'd been in Mumbai for some time before training. We laid around swapping stories and getting to know one another.
That evening we had a group dinner. Looking back most of us reflected on how awkward it had felt. It's very sweet and reassuring to now know that we all felt just about the same: nervous.
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