Casa Piccola Cottage is one of those special places that I always endeavour to find in India. It is a wonderful combination of safe, peaceful, clean, comfortable, affordable, charming and most of all friendly. To be considered for inclusion into my list of special places to stay in India, a hotel or guest house has to be owner-operated — and the owners have to be friendly, helpful and provide personalized service.
Experiencing the power of the Thar DesertI long wanted to go to Jaisalmer — a fairytale town built around a romantic sand castle in the middle of the Thar Desert, on the far-flung western edge of India. I didn’t get there until my third trip to India, but it was worth the wait. Jaisalmer captured my imagination in so many ways, and the night I spent sleeping under the stars on the sand dunes was one of the peak experiences of my life. Impossible to describe the powerful, mystical sense of the desert: the sight of millions of pulsating diamond-like stars above, the timeless sound of camels gurgling us to sleep, the feel of a soft breeze and the scent of the cooking fire.
Pabu, Capucine and Mohan
While I was in Jaisalmer last winter (2009) I met Capucine, a young French woman who had fallen in love with Jaisalmer, the desert and Pabu several years before. She and Pabu had a son together, Mohan, and were starting a business. I was captivated by their story, and how impossible it seemed, and yet how graceful and natural they made it look. I did get the sense that Capucine and Pabu could do anything together … and it seems they have.
Together, they recently opened Pabu ki Dhani, an eco farm in the desert about 40 kms outside of Jaisalmer. I asked Capucine, by email, about Pabu ki Dhani.
(more…)
[NOTE: Originally published in the Toronto Star as India: A Journey to the other side.]
Aura - Photograph courtesy of Jonathan Luckhurst Photography
It was just before twilight when I stepped onto the creaky planking of a small wood boat. The old knotty boatman pushed us away from the muddy shore and started rowing. With each pull of the oars we crept along the surface of India’s most sacred river, past the scythe-like curve of ghats (steps) that line the western shore, towards Dasaswamedh Ghat, the main ghat, and the aarti (ceremony). The aarti is performed each evening at dusk to honour Ganga Ma, the Ganges River, mother of India. Behind the ghats, and a wall of soaring stone palaces and pavilions, pulses the abode of Shiva, the ancient, holy city of Benares, one of the oldest living cities on earth.
women in Rajasthan
In the last four years, on three separate trips, I have traveled for about 11 months in India by myself. I have been on or in almost every mode of transport you can think of: plane, train, taxi, private car, autorickshaw, bicycle rickshaw, motorcycle, even elephant and camel. But until very near the end of my third trip, I had never been on a public bus.
I was beginning to think I was afraid. Public buses in India are known for being hot and crowded and free of modern amenities such as A/C and suspension. I had heard stories about leering men, live chickens and lunches cooked on small stoves.
I enjoyed reading Christine Garvin’s article, Can You Develop Your Spirituality Without Visiting India? on Brave New Traveler (part of the Matador Travel Network).Of course, I whole-heartedly agree that finding or increasing your spiritual awareness is not about location. Spirituality is an attitude and an understanding. You can find it, learn it or increase it anywhere and anytime. In fact, the lessons often come from the unlikeliest people and places. You don’t even have to go to a temple, church, mosque, gurdwara, mediation centre, ashram, monastery or what have you. Once you begin to see the world from a spiritual perspective, you may never need a formal teacher again.
Originally published in Dreamscapes magazine.
View of the majestic Himalayas from Anand Prakash Yoga Ashram
As I sit writing this on the balcony of my room at the Anand Prakash Yoga Ashram in Rishikesh, India, the melodious sound of people singing kirtan (devotional songs and chants) floats up from the yoga hall below. From here, I have a breath-taking view of the imposing foothills of the Himalayas and I can feel the invigorating mountain air as it sweeps into this serene valley, through which the jewel-green Ganga (Ganges) River flows. It is easy to see why legend refers to the Himalaya range as Dev Bhoomi, land of the gods.
Rishikesh is a small and relatively (by Indian standards) peaceful town that meanders along the narrow valley on both sides of the Ganga, connected by two impressive suspension bridges, Laxman Jhula and Ram Jhula, which are open for pedestrian traffic, bicycles and motorcycles only. Seers – rishis – and sages have been gathering here, at this picturesque spot on the Ganges, since before recorded history to prayer, chant and meditate. Indian pilgrims and foreign yoga students alike flock here to stay in one of the town’s many ashrams and soak up the devotional vibes. It is often referred to as the yoga capital of the world.
The Ganges River is the Mother of IndiaThe River speaks in many voices as she travels from the high Himalayas to the Bay of Bengal.
Through Rishikesh, Ganga sings as she passes through the enchanted valley ringing with bells. Her song is joyous, full of the the jubilance of youth, the rush of fresh mountain streams, the sincere chanting of pilgrims who wish her well and the excitement of the onward journey. Ganga is gorgeous in Rishikesh, jewel-green, opaque and sparkling. A beauty for the ages, decorated with flower-and-light filled offerings.
At Rishidwar, she slows a little to enjoy the mist-covered mountains, tulsi-filled meadows, low flying birds and grazing cattle. The languid movement of the surface of the water belies the depth and strength of her current and hints at a sonorous voice. Here, her deep, quiet power is felt more than heard and she imbues the surrounding countryside with sacred serenity.
Pushkar Lake at sunrise
Whenever I return to Toronto from India, I go through the throes of reverse culture shock. I miss things. I miss the smells of India, the flowers, incense, cooking fires, animals. India doesn’t always smell nice, but it always smells like something.
I miss the diversity of life, the warmth, the colour, the overt spirituality, and the way people in India demonstrate a remarkably tolerant pluralism, a liquid response to life and a comparatively higher level of equanimity and contentment.
I miss the joy. In spite of the poverty, overcrowding, and serious lack of infrastructure, I find more joy in India than I do in Canada — though we are one of the richest nations on earth.
So in India, I learned that stuff doesn’t make you happy. I also learned that thinking life is supposed to be a certain way, is a sure-fire recipe for unhappiness. It’s not only unrealistic, it ignores the fact that the only thing we have any control over is our own minds, and how we choose to respond to life.
I learned the spiritual idea that everything is as it should be. Even if something “bad” happens, it was meant to be — and the best thing you can do is see the event as a teacher and learn from it. Learn about yourself, your expectations, your judgments and biases, etc.
My Integral Yoga teacher in India, Swami Brahmdev (Swamiji), says, “We are here to discover ourselves.” Swamiji also says that suffering is a gift. And the truth is, we often learn more from the difficult and unfortunate events in life.
I know that I won the lottery of life by being born in middle-class Canada. But I also know you don’t need to have two cars, a flat screen TV, a huge RSP, and a ‘perfect life’ to be happy.
Happiness is a choice. It is a path. In fact, happiness is probably the best path towards spiritual awareness.
A.R. Rahman, when he won the Oscar for Slumdog Millionaire said that all his life he had the choice between love and hate. He chose love, and that’s why he was there, on that stage.
It is the same for all of us. Each moment, we have the choice between being positive and being negative. And that is how we manifest our lives.
So, what would happen if we decided life is perfect? Even if only for a moment.
When I was a child I painted huge colourful murals on my walls – always something I considered exotic and oriental like genies coming out of bottles and turret-topped palaces and stone fortress-like cityscapes. Imagination was more important than reality, and I stoked the fires of my imagination with fabulous tales from the Arabian Nights, incredible stories from the Greek Myths and any other magical tales I could get my hands on.
I sensed there were worlds hidden within the known world; things were not as they seemed. I stared beneath the surface of the lake at the cottage and watched the swaying seaweed and the crayfish swimming backwards and the choreographed schools of small fish. In those moments I felt I disappeared, and only my attention on the secret underwater world was real.
Road sign to Bikaner, top, and Jaisalmer, bottom
Real life has its allure and can trap even the hardiest seer with distractions, heart break, loss, struggle. But what happens when you look up; when you look beyond. You can see the world as you did, if you’re lucky, when you had the innocence to see clearly.
You can find a place that, impossibly, looks like your bedroom walls. A place with stone turrets, an ancient fort and a wide open expanse of desert that contains worlds within worlds. Barren beauty is perhaps the most beautiful of all because you have to actively look for it. It draws you in with its subtlety and suggestions, it’s quiet power; and it rewards you with a jeweled night sky beaming love and life.
As I write this, police, hotel staff and and various specialists are combing through the wreckage of the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Mumbai looking for casualties, evidence, survivors and possibly terrorists in hiding. There have been so many shocking images coming out of Mumbai over the last three days. Bloodied bodies. Flames and smoke billowing from an historic and important landmark. Survivors climbing down drain pipes. Paratroopers repelling down ropes onto the roof of Nariman House.
I found the most chilling image to be that of a smiling young gunman, toting an AK-47, as he goes on his murderous rampage. His smile seems so out of place, so remorseless, so certain. It’s the terrorists’ certainty that scares me, more than anything else. That certainty springs from a mindset deeply rooted in the dualistic notion of right and wrong.
On the morning of April 14 approximately 10 million people streamed into the sacred town of Haridwar in north India to bathe in the Ganga on the most auspicious day during the 2010 Kumbh Mela. I was one of them. Find out how I found myself alone, and at home, at the world’s largest spiritual gathering.
In Varanasi, where the veil between life and death seems very thin, a boat ride on the river can become a journey to the other side. Come along with me on a boat ride on the Ganges River in India’s oldest, holiest city and pierce the veil.
The Ganges / Ganga River is the Mother of India. The River speaks in many voices as she travels from the high Himalayas to the Bay of Bengal. At the source, her song is joyous, full of the the jubilance of youth, the rush of fresh mountain streams, the sincere chanting of pilgrims and the excitement of the onward journey.
