Thank you, India

I am heading home and what a journey it has been. It feels like months ago that I was sitting in Melbourne airport eagerly awaiting the call to board the plane. India, you have given me one hell of a ride and I know that I have only skimmed the surface of what this country has to offer.

Here are a few things running through my very tired mind:

I love India. It is not an easy place to travel through. You have to be willing to negotiate, argue, squat, get sick, breathe in very polluted air, see things you possibly don't agree with and, if you're a women, get ogled by men, but it is one hell of a place regardless of all these things.

I love how when I say thank you people say 'welcome'.

I love being lost in a sea of people.

I love seeing women in delicate, colorful saris.

I love learning - both the educational variety and learning things abouy culture and life itself from people who have lived it.

I love travelling.

I love the comfort of having a home to go to, with a lovely bed and a shower that has clean water. For this I am extremely grateful.

I love fruit, in all countries.

I love chai, and the ceremony that goes with it.

And lastly, I love exploring, I love adventure, I love writing and I intend to do these things to the day I die.

Thank you India, you have been a garland of vibrant awesomeness.

'Welcome', she says.

From the heaving city of Mumbai to a tranquil beach in Goa, India has it all

Putnam beach in south Goa is great and thanks to the lovely looking women in saris sweeping the beach (yes, that is correct, sweeping the beach), it is very clean. I've been staying at Lotus Yoga Retreat for the last three nights and doing various yoga classes looking out over the beach morning and night. Devine! There are excellent restaurants lining the beach selling a mixture of Indian, Italian, Chinese and Goan dishes. This is to cater for all the tourists that visit this area for the six months that the sun is shining. Two of my favourite spots to eat are Chillies, where Jess and I sat with our feet in the sand and sampled the catch of the day before trying their Goan desert  babyinka (?). We also got to play with their adorable puppy Bella. The big paws and floppy ears are just too cute. Another favourite that allowed me to carry on with my mid morning coffee is called Home. It is owned by a Swiss couple and offers a mixture of beautiful European cuisine. Seems strange when you're in India, but the coffee and black grape juice is to die for.

Jess and I fell in love, first with the puppy and secondly with the young chap that walks the length of the beach all morning. He is a child, but he has the clothes and wisdom of an old man. Dressed in high waisted trousers and a check shirt and sandals he sells newspapers and garlands of flowers. The second day I was here he walked past and said the usual 'flowers?', I said 'no, thank you' and he looked at me with a crestfallen face and said 'Oh, pretty flowers' in the cutest voice in the entire world. It melts your heart. Yesterday I bought some of his pretty flowers. It made his day.

Someone asked me what I liked best about India. I had to think about it for a while, because there are so many different things I could take away with me. However, the unpredictability is what I love. And this surprises me. I thought I would hate unpredictability. But there have been various instances where I have set out not knowing what was in store and after nine hours, several car rides, numerous cups of chai and four or five locations I have found myself once again lying under my mosquito net perplexed, and at the same time filled with wonder, at the unpredictability of it all. Questions race through my mind: How does the honking system work? How is it that traffic flows, yet doesn't flow? Why are there no rubbish bins? What is the secret ingredient in chai? But the biggest question of all is how does all this chaos, wonder and unpredictability leave you wanting more? There is something intoxicating about being surrounded by extremes and in the midst of a country of contrasts. There is a functionality about the whole thing that is perplexing, confusing and at times tiring, but one cannot help being pulled deeper and deeper into its heaving pulse.

Cartwheels along Putnam Beach at dawn

This morning I rose after a restless night. There are a pack of stray, but delightful, dogs that congregate outside my current accommodation, the Bridge and Tunnel. They spend their nights howling at the moon and their days lying on the beach with their bodies nestled into coves dug out in the sand. Some of the stray dogs in other parts of India are rather disheveled and I fear for rabies. However, thanks to the local animal rescue team around Putnam and Colomb bay these dogs are quite lovely.

There is something extremely comforting about waking up, walking out your door, and pressing your feet into the sand. The ocean waves have a methodical nature that makes sitting quietly by the beach at dawn tranquil. Today I headed south along Putnam beach, my feet toying with the lapping waves. Something stirred inside me and my inner child took hold as I performed several cartwheels along the beach, the only audience was the ocean waves. I then pressed my big toe into the sand and drew a love heart, because I could.

I have spent the last few days here on Putnam beach in south Goa with Jess. After the chaotic vibe that had become familiar in the large cities, it is a welcome change. This beach is one of the quieter beaches in Goa, with less tourists and a very relaxed feel. The beach is lined with restaurants and resorts and signs advertising yoga, it feels like my kind of paradise. I have attended several yoga classes and yesterday I went along to the Shiva Yoga Center where Swami Shivanand Jee took us through his gentle hatha yoga session. The day before I had gone to an early morning ashtanga (Mysore style) yoga session and while it was great, I have problems with my knee and hip and so didn't want to push it to the limit, because that's not what yoga is about after all. I got into a conversation with Swami after the yoga session as I was keen to see what sort of insight this yogi from India had. He told me about life, happiness and love and one thing stood out from the rest. He said 'what is beautiful? ... Truth is beautiful. Beauty is truth. It's not until you know you're own truth that you can be happy'. I think these were very wise words.

Last night we made our way to Neptune Point after hearing that there was an open air cinema. It is an absolutely stunning bay and we ate our dinner while watching the sun go down. As we ate there were a large group of kids playing football on the sand. They ran up and down the bay, the older boys taking charge and instructing the younger ones on the finer points of the game. There were some serious skills unfolding in front of my eyes. What a wonderful way to spend the evening for these children. I am reminded of going on a family holiday to Otaki as a child and spending hours on the beach making sand castles and rolling, time and time again, down the enormous dunes. At the time they seemed like mountains to us as we set out from the base and crawled and dug our way to the top. But it was all worth it when at last we reached the top. We'd climb on our flutter boards or cardboard or any other board we found lying around and fly down the dunes, sand spraying out beside us. Nothing felt better than that. Pure bliss. I intend now to go off and enjoy the rest of the day, doing more child like activities, because it feels like that kind of day.

The red sari that sailed the streets of Mumbai

Mumbai is a wonderful city, well what I've seen of it anyway. It's huge. Some 14 million people live in this city and there was evidence of this wherever we turned. Geographically speaking Mumbai is long and skinny (technically speaking) and so is surrounded by water. Some of the bridges are magnificent and beautifully lit at night. We are staying in south Mumbai in an area called Colaba which has a distinctive colonial feel. The Sassoon docks and the marine parade are a minutes walk and make for a really nice morning walk to go and get a descent coffee.

I've spent the last few days wandering the streets. Down the end of our road I purchased some water from a lovely girl in a deep blue sari. Her shop, wrapped in a square and hugged closely around her, was lined top to bottom with crisps, Indian snacks and sweets, water, lighters and cigarettes. The layout reminded me of a shed we had down the bottom of our property in Eastbourne when I was four years old. My sisters and I used to play shops for hours, lining the shelves with jars and cans of food to sell to our imaginary customers. Preparing the shop was always the most fun.

One of the main shopping districts is Colaba Causeway, a bustling area with tourists and locals mingling about. Every meter or so vegetable vendors sit with their fruit and vegetables displayed before them, the pinks of the pomegranate shine under the mid morning haze. Every building has its own distinctive exterior, my favourite is the turquoise brocade apartments, with windows strung open and shutters pulled revealing linen hanging to dry. Jess and I went into several shops to try on various clothes. Rather than changing rooms they use trial rooms, which I thought was super cute. After all, we were trialing the clothes, if only for a minute. Some shops don't have a trial room, only mirrors. I asked a man, all dressed in white, if he had a trial room and he said 'no, it's your size'. I had a quiet chuckle. That's not the point mister. I did like the conviction in his voice, however, and I thought it was a very useful strategy to use.

On this day in Mumbai there were vendors galore as we made our way along the arts precinct. We passed a woman with a monkey on a chain and I quickly turned away so as to avoid any contact with woman, monkey and feeling associated with woman, monkey and chain. Further on we walked past several men selling their artwork, all beautiful pieces with vibrant colors known to India. I ended up purchasing a lovely painting created by a local man named Sanjay. I have become accustomed to the street life. As it was a public day there were people everywhere. On one corner an infant was tight rope walking with something balanced on her head. Not the usual extra-curricular activity for children under the age of four, but maybe in Mumbai it is? On the next corner a mother had tied a piece of fabric between two posts and was using it as a hammock to swing her baby high into the air, and I mean high. As we made our way back along the Cooperage maideen there were hundreds of men lounging, leaning, watching and playing the countries prized sport, cricket. I have lost count of the number of times I have been asked about cricket. It is the sport that binds us. Watching these games from outside the fence I could feel the energy it created. In the next street we pass a man on a bicycle transporting several cartons of eggs. What an amazingly optimistic means of transportation.

The last image of Mumbai that sticks in my mind is wonderful yet surprising. It is the image of a women. She sits sidesaddle on the back of a motorbike, her red sari glistening in the wind as it flows out behind her. Such delicate fabrics atop such oily pieces of machinery. I love the contrast it creates. These bikes weave in and out of the traffic, and it still amazes me how women are able to sit on the back with babies in their hands and feel at ease. While it sits under a sea of smog, it is a wonderfully vibrant city and I hope to return another day for masala tea and a lassi.

Home, this must be the place.

In Bangalore I spent the majority of my stay in bed, and I had plenty of time to think. Here's what I came up with. Before coming to India I was at a money exchange in Melbourne and talking to the Indian woman behind the counter. It was another one of those instances where someone was showering me with advice, despite my best efforts. This time we were talking about money and the conversation went something along the lines of:
 Her: 'Ma'am you will need money when you get to India'
Me: head nod
Her: 'You do not want to get to India and have no money'
Me: head nod
Her: 'If you have no money in India, nobody cares about you, nobody wants to know you'
Me: head nod, okay I get it. One needs money to get by in India.

 Now I understand what she was drilling into me, the gap between rich and poor is so extreme that people haggle, beg and hawk to get money and food, right outside shops selling Gucci bags from glitzy shop fronts. Seems outrageous when you think about it. There are an estimated 32.7% of people in India living below the poverty line and when you are in the thick of it you can see how humans make do with very little. Sometimes it is just the clothes on their back and a cardboard box shaped lovingly into a home. But that space is enough to call home. It is easy enough for me to swan in to a third world country having been brought up in a loving home, with food on the table and a comfortable bed to sleep in and despair at the 'sad state of the world'. However, I only have to walk onto the streets of Melbourne or Wellington to see that poverty and homelessness exist all around us.

Over the past year I have been contemplating the word home and the concept of home. While I live in Melbourne and think of this as my home, I also consider New Zealand, the Wairarapa and Wellington my home. I am happiest when I can build a home around me. It's the love, the connection and belonging I feel that makes me feel at home. Several months ago I asked my friends what home meant to them. There were those that though of home as being something to do with comfort, safety and sleeping. While others associated home with family and love. Lastly there were those who thought of home as being a place, such as Aotearoa. Or simply home itself. All of these things are reliant on a person having a concept of home and after coming to India and seeing so many people sleeping on the streets and without a physical home I am reminded that while not everybody has a home, we all have our own experiences and stories to tell. This is why home means something different to everyone. My friend Charlotte was once asked  if she'd missed her home while she was living in Thailand and she said 'but home is where I am, I am home'. It stuck with me and I get it. We do what we can to create a home around us with the resources we have. Some of us do this on the streets and nurture the home in their hearts, while others  do this within institutions, and others within the walls of their house. Home is indeed where the heart is.

 I have written a playlist called homeward bound and here are a few goodies on the list:
 'Way Back Home' - Band of Horses
'Home, Land and Sea' - Trinity Roots
'Home' - Edward Sharp and the Magnetic Zeros

 Here are some lyrics from my favourite Talking Heads song 'This must be the place':

'Home, is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there. I come home - she lifted up her wings, I guess that this must be the place'.

Laying low in Bangalore

When I set out on this trip I was nervous about travelling to India, and I was also nervous about travelling with a large group of women. Currently, woman suffering from addiction in India face stigma and so are not getting the help they need. I am travelling with a group of around sixty women hoping to raise awareness about this issue. It has been an unbelievable journey so far, and it has also been an exhausting one. Yesterday I fell sick and have spent the last few days in bed. My mind is telling me that I should be getting out there and exploring Bangalore which is probably the nicest city we've been to thus far. But my body is telling me otherwise. Today I know to listen to my body and when I'm findin it hard to lift my arms, or simply stand upright, I know that I should lie down and simply do nothing. That is a hard thing to do for a cronic doer. Luckily for me I am holed up in a lavish hotel with the cumfiest bed on earth. More adventures coming soon I'm sure.

Seeking solace in silence in the streets of Chennai

Today I woke up feeling queasy yet determined to explore Chennai with Jess. Even if you have a master game plan in India, things never pan out how you think it will. Jess and I decided to take a tuk tuk down to Marina Beach and kindly requested that our driver take us there. We were informed that he 'needed' us to stop at another place on the way, but today I was adamant I would get from A to B with no in betweens. So off we went. I was sitting in the back of the rickshaw with several thoughts racing through my mind:

 1. I have a feeling we're not going to Marina Beach
2. My rickshaw driver has suspiciously bloodshot eyes
3. Chennai seems even more relaxed about their driving or
4. My driver is a little mad and likes to drive, at times, on the wrong side of the road.

 As these thoughts are running through my incredibly over active mind we weave out way through narrow streets and I know we are getting closer to the beach as the smell of fish becomes stronger from men and women selling it on the side of the road. We are in the midst of the pulsing rhythm and noise that makes India, India. Number one on my panic list (noted above) was apparently uncalled for as we arrived at our destination*.

Marina Beach is not like any other beach I have seen. The sand stretches as far as the eye can see and carts, food stalls and mini carnival Ferris wheels are scattered all over the sand. After making our way down a line of stalls laid out in the sand we decided to head back to our driver, albeit somewhat reluctantly...we havn't paid him yet, and I didn't fancy our chances of doing a runner in this town. We would have gotten hunted down for sure.

 After an appetizing (but incredibly spicy) lunch we made our way to Ramakrishna Mutt. This is a pink Hindi temple where people are free to explore the grounds and meditate inside. There was also a super cute book store where I purchased a book called 'Silence as Yoga'. I was happy with my find and here's why. Silence and stillness are such an important part of my day. For many years I felt uncomfortable in silence and often had the overwhelming urge to hum or click my fingers or ramble on about nothing, simply to fill the silence with noise. While I occasionally have these urges today, on the whole I welcome silence and enjoy the stillness and peace it offers. Being in such a noisy and happening city has meant that I have had to take time out every day. Going to temples allows me to relax and sit in silence. Even when there is noise about me, I am learning how to create a silence from within and in a country like India I think it is essential for my peace of mind. It's about staying in the present moment and remaining calm despite the fact that my rickshaw driver is stoned out of his mind, despite the fact that we're doing a U-Turn in fast moving traffic, and despite the fact that at times other people's actions make me want to crawl safely into my snail shell. Silence can be found amidst all the chaos that we call life, that is if we choose to seek it.

 'Silence, the great unseen power, the miracle of life, works upon our character with strange contrast. At times it overwhelms us with its oppressive stillness, and again it falls upon our heart as a shower of refreshing raindrops on a sultry summer day. How often silence acts as a tonic, invigorating and reviving our dull spirit. Then at other times its effect upon us is like that of a narcotic, putting our life's energies into a state of morbid sleep. All great forces of nature work in contrast.'
Silence as Yoga - Swami Paramananda

 *For your information numbers two and four were later verified and this, therefore, cancels out the need for number three.