Wandering in Mumbai... stumbling upon Ghandhi's home

Our first official morning of training was in Mumbai and wound up being pretty unstructured. We were offered a separate spot for breakfast away from the main buffet area so that all items could be assuredly vegan. There was a lot more waiting around. I saw folks milling by the pool and joined them. I was nervous about swimming in India as I'd been told that women typically swim in men's swim trunks and tee-shirts. (It's true-- I later saw billboards for water parks with women clothed this way.) I had brought Kevin's swim trunks in case but also bikinis in case I could swim in what was more normal for me. Ultimately, I saw some women in bikinis swimming. I figured, this is Mumbai. It's a big, cosmopolitan city. I'll go with it.

The water was incredibly cold but that was refreshing in the dense Mumbai heat. Later in the day I took a walk with a few fellow trainees. Hotel Lalit is close to the airport, which is on the outskirts of the city. There wasn't much around us. There were some densely packed neighborhoods. I saw a man bathing with a bucket in the alley by his home. There was a barber shop adjacent. A pack of dogs roamed.

Around the corner there was a gas station where tuk tuk's lined up to refuel. The streets were packed and traffic laws treated as suggestion. It reminded me a bit of Hanoi though Mumbai's traffic was way tamer. We found a way to cross the street. We stumbled upon a Muslim school. Nearby, a man was making shaved ice cones. My brave friends asked for some. I asked the man if I could take a photo and he shook his head, "No." I put my camera down. Later, I realized he was doing the Indian side to side of "Yes." Doh!

My brave friends said the ices were refreshing and slightly spicey. As they started feeling potentially parasite-y, we sought out trash cans. We finally found them and the ices were released.

I think this same day we went into Mumbai proper for the Flower Festival. We drove through the city, over bridges spanning bits of the Indian Ocean, until we arrived at the ISKCON Temple in Chowpatty.

The temple was beautiful. There was an area where we released our shoes to monks who gave us a tag, like a coat check. I found a restroom. A beautiful Indian woman asked why I was there. I said I was training as a Jivamukti Teacher. She said, "Oh! You're here with Sharon!" referring to Jivamukti's co-founder, Sharon Gannon. Sharon wasn't there yet, she wasn't scheduled to join our training until our final week. In a way, I definitely was there with or because of Sharon so I affirmed to my friend in the bathroom. In this way, I continually felt claimed.

The monks saffron robes drying.

We had a few breaks throughout the afternoon. My main objective was to try to find gifts for Kevin, my family, my community, and all those who supported me joining the Jivamukti training. Some people at the Temple had recently come from Govardhan, the rural eco-village where we would be training for the upcoming month. I asked them if I could purchase gifts there. Most said, not really. There's a gift shop, but it's small. It seemed like today was the day!

I set off from the Temple during a break with a group of fellow trainees. The city reminded me a bit of Buenos Aires in that there were a surprising amount of trees. However, it also felt totally different. Drier, dustier, and... Indian!

Now, I'm generally a pretty confident and adventurous traveler. However, I like to get my bearings. I always take time to observe my surroundings before exploring. I knew that this trip was about the training so I had promised myself and my loved ones that I would stick with the group. The little group that I'd left the Temple with was all coordinating which turns we'd taken so we could hopefully find our way back. I was working hard to not get disoriented. I'm good with directions, but we were moving quick and Mumbai moves even more quickly.

We bumped into one of our facilitator's, Jules Febre, and the training coordinator, Hachi. They were setting up sim cards at a kiosk. They told us we were about two blocks away from Ghandhi's house. Whoops! Shopping is out. We stumbled through the open construction of the street, tiptoeing in flip flops through rebar. We found a side, tree-lined street and turned.

It was so wild to stumble upon Ghandhi's Mumbai house. Life felt very surreal. We paid some rupees and wandered in. First, an expansive library covered in framed quotes from Ghandhi. Upstairs, video footage of notable moments. Hallways lined with newspaper articles and photos of Ghandhi with an assortment of notable people. And then, Ghandhi's bedroom.

Notice the looms? These are important. Ghandhi prioritized simple, humble menial labor as part of his spiritual life. Ghandhi, like all of us, was an evolving figure. He was a lawyer in South Africa. He was really flawed. When he focused on adopting a spiritual life, he changed and continued to grow. His focus on the loom and other labor stayed with me. It was also a message that was reinforced for me in Govardhan. Those of us pursuing bigger purpose and connection need to do more than yoga asana and meditation-- we need to be humble and connected. It behooves us to make things, grow things, put our hands in the dirt, wake early, and work hard. We are better for it. Meditating all day without any engagement in the material plane is a tricky course. I haven't seen it pan out well.

Nearby, there was a room full of dioramas depicting notable moments in Ghandhi's life and evolution. It reminded me of the activists I am close to at home. There was the same knack for being in the right place at the right time (which I later learned in training is a sign of evolution on the spiritual path). There was that sense that Ghandhi chose smart, strategic fights. There is so much injustice. How do you find the right angle to really push change? For all his faults, Ghandhi obviously chose many of the right battles. Again, I see this with my activist community at home. It heartened me.

Lastly, there was a scene of Ghandhi's death. At the time of his assassination, he recited his mantra. We are taught to practice mantra so that in times of intensity and transition, we are intentional. This is a powerful act.

We began making our way carefully back to the Temple. My feet were coated in dust. School children dodged us, chatting happily. Men sat drinking chai at kiosks with newspapers tucked under their arms. Cars seemed very unconcerned with whether or not they hit us. We turned corners, matched our step to the locals around us, and found our way back to the quiet Temple street.