I Dig The Red Book

Last night Rishal was telling me about a good friend of his back in Delhi. The mate had met a Texan woman during university, fell madly in love, married her and brought her back to Delhi. Simple enough.

“Except the woman is a … I always forget this word, episco- no...you know – when you are really focused on Jesus, lots of god bless stuff, savior comments..”

“Evangelical?”

“Yes! You should hear her, she has gotten him to convert, now she is working on the family and his dad is going to lose it! I mean, why must it be just one way…Hinduism is about collecting many gods, many ways, why couldn’t she just be evangelical and he just is Hindi?”

I was speechless to the image of an evangelical Texan living in Delhi trying to convert her Hindi in-laws. There’s gotta be a Bollywood movie made, perfect recipe for a kitschy romance, comedy, drama.

After a few weeks in India, even the most staunch atheist will question if there might be a little more out there. Every corner you turn you see/hear/smell statues, paintings, chalk drawings (see above for the chalk they buy to draw on the sidewalk), temples, whispered prayers, puja bells ringing, incense burning…you get the idea…all in the name of “religion.” And similar to most western women I know, the whole religion thing leaves me a bit unsettled. The religion I was raised in doesn’t allow women to lead, the country I live in abuses religion as a political tactic, the city I live in treats religion as a thing you do in the privacy of your own home – and please don’t bring it up at a dinner party.

And so I practice Karma by not cutting people off in traffic, do some yoga, read some Rumi and Pema Chodron and David Whyte now and again, keep a Buddha and a Virgin Mary statue on my window, say a Hail Mary every time a plane takes off, attend Christmas mass with my family, listen to my atheist Jewish boyfriend lead the table in Hebrew prayer during Roshashana – and practice tonglen to give some compassion. A little confusing, but it kinda works.

And then a friend gave me The Red Book right before I left. It’s not a self-help book. It’s not a book on spirituality. It’s not about religious rules and regulations. It is about being true to your intuition. It’s about questioning your beliefs. Unpeeling layers. And it’s a ton of fun to read. The author, Sera Beak, practices what she preaches and has some great lessons – both academic, as a Harvard-trained scholar of mysticism and comparative religion, and practical, like a cool older sister who shows you a few tools she has learned here and there…

Anyway, I dig it. And when the conversation with Rishal last night turned to the eclectic nature of Americans and our love for just taking what we like from all religions, instead of reminding him that Hinduism adapts in a similar fashion - I agreed and exclaimed how great “choice” is! As Sera mentioned in her book, I don’t get up everyday and “just” choose to eat candy. I choose to have some broccoli and chocolate and green beans and red wine too. Except in India, I would pay a lot for a bar of Lindt chocolate right now…
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Wait, Make that San Francisco, India

I mentally braced myself for weeks prior to my visit to India. Get ready. Indian toilets, only cooked food, hundreds of outstretched hands daily, walking around with your very own paparazzi as Indian men follow you around with their cameras, no personal space, indescribable smells, “no change” claims for every rickshaw you take, buying a bag of chips is one of 20 negotiations that day...

And then I moved into my room in Gokulam. After I paid Shiva for his house-finding help, my friend Ross from San Francisco offered to “give me the lay of the land” and buy me a smoothie afterwards. Ross informed me there are a few institutions that I needed to know, we passed the Yoga Shala and he pointed out the coconut stand – the epicenter for all social rendezvous in Mysore. We moved on to Anu’s Internet café where we ordered banana shakes and sat under the stars with 20 other westerners on their laptops and cell phones chatting with friends back home. He informed me about breakfast at Tina’s or the Shakti house (delicious fresh fruit, western or Indian breakfast at both), coffee at Coffee Time (India’s very own Starbucks), cooking classes, chanting classes, Sanskrit classes, ayurvedic consultations, astrology consultations, pool time at the Southern Star, and not to be too overwhelmed by the shala sub-culture, it can feel a little bit like college sometimes.

The Guruji-devotee sub-culture is the ultimate in viral marketing – and the Indians who support it are making a killing (and rightly so - they are wonderful people to put up with us!). Ross’s introduction was only the beginning. Linda, from Finland, gave me a hand-written map from her yoga teacher (I showed it to a yoga student later that day and she said she would have paid $50 for it when she got here). Tina’s and Shakti’s don’t have signs let alone numbers on their homes, you only know of Tina’s by “the green house on the corner after you take a left at the end of the field.” Linda’s map pointed out the un-signed 6 or so restaurants around my hood where the local yoga students go – I have yet to see an Indian eating there. Other unadorned landmarks include the house that makes home made chocolate around the corner from me, the tailor who can replicate my favorite “QuickSilver” pants, the best place to get pre-paid cell phones, the DVD hire, “Doctor’s Corner” where the good Ayurvedic doctors practice, the Green Hotel with the Sunday 10 am organic market, a great astrologer, the only thing I couldn’t find is my mani-pedi place?

Life is rough. I quickly realized that one meal with my fellow yoga students each day is enough. And although I do have a new pair of pants coming, a scheduled massage on Saturday afternoon and a plan to visit the organic market, I am filling up most of my other free time with exploration. Meals with the Indians, meandering around town, visits to the local schools to interview teachers, Indian cooking classes from Tina and Meena, a climb up Chamundi Hill, a day trip to Srirangapatnam…